


The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

by aardvark_french



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Romance, Fall Out Boy References, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, M/M, My Chemical Romance References, Panic! at the Disco References, Philosophy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 92,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aardvark_french/pseuds/aardvark_french
Summary: "Who do you think you are - some sort of modern day Socrates?""Don't you know who I think I am, Brendon?"Ryan Ross has always wanted to study philosophy. Everyone he knows thinks that he'll never get a job, but that won't stop Ryan from dreaming. When he goes to college, he enrolls at Kale University - America's third best philosophy program - and meets classmates such as Patrick Stump, a softhearted fellow freshman who has yet to discover that being a veterinarian is not about petting bunnies all day, and Gerard Way, the art-obsessed head of Kale's one and only Greek Friendship Society. Best of all, Ryan meets the flamboyant lounge singer by the name of Brendon Urie when he gets a job as Brendon's pianist. With Brendon's help, Ryan slowly realizes that Kale isn't the philosophical paradise that he dreamed of, Brendon isn't the man that Ryan thought he was, and maybe the piano knows something that he doesn't know.2020 revision of a fic I wrote in 2017. Enjoy!
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Comments: 130
Kudos: 42





	1. Why would I ever want to go to Kale University in the first place?

Let’s just say that I’ve had a bit of a rough year. Between work, studies, pressure to join various Greek organizations, arguments with my roommate, unexpected heartbreak...well, I’ll get to that later. The important part is that all of this started when I first found the name “Kale University” in my college search. 

Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a philosopher. I had a lot of ideas about human nature, and I desperately wanted to find somewhere where I could share them to my heart’s content. I still have a lot of ideas, especially after spending a whole year studying philosophy at Kale, and I’ll share a few of them with you over the course of this book. The dictionary defines philosophy as “the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence,” but what does that mean? Do I need to study philosophy at college to be a philosopher? Confucius and Socrates never had a formal education in philosophy - were they not philosophers? What if I am studying the nature of nonexistence - is that not philosophy either? 

As you can see, I tend to go off on tangents, so bear with me throughout this tale. 

When I was a junior in high school, it seemed only natural to major in philosophy. Despite my mother’s warnings that I would never be able to find a job, it was the only subject that I truly loved. In all of my classes, my mind would drift off, desperate to leave trigonometry and polynomials behind and learn more about reality, knowledge, and morality. Back then, I was sure that it was unethical to compel a student to learn something that they are uninterested in, but now, I’m less certain. What is the purpose of an education anyways? In high school, I learned more about cliques and dubious cafeteria food than I did about anything that truly mattered in life. I was desperate to answer life’s hardest questions, to do something that genuinely exciting. I was sure that college would be the perfect place for that, but I needed to find a school to go to first. 

A simple Google search solved that problem. I Googled “best colleges for philosophy majors, and an article popped up with a list of the highest ranked collegiate philosophy departments. I read through the list. 

_1\. Princeton University_  
2\. Harvard University  
3\. Kale University 

I looked at the third item on the list to ensure that I hadn’t read it wrong. It had to be a typo. If the people compiling the list had truly meant Kale University and not Yale University, then it would be the only college on the whole list that wasn’t an Ivy League school, and with a 26 on my ACT, there was no way that I would make it into Princeton or Harvard. Then again, what is the point of standardized testing? How can a three hour multiple choice test tell how smart I am? The test doesn’t know me, although sometimes I think that my piano might know how smart I am. The piano knows a lot of things. 

I did some more research on Kale University, and the more I looked at it, the more I fell in love with it. I learned the basic facts, like that Kale was a private university in Old Haven, Connecticut with 6,000 undergraduates and a 58% acceptance rate, but I also learned some more unusual facts. Kale had a jungle gym at the center of campus. Kale had clubs such as the Guyliner Club and the Cookie Baking Club, both of which I desperately wanted to join. Each year, the first year philosophy students came up with a new school motto as an assignment, and the entire student body voted for the best one.

I looked at a few other schools, but by March of that year, my heart was set on Kale. However, I still had to convince my mother to let me visit Kale over spring break. 

“Ryan, Kale is in Connecticut,” Mom said when I told her that I wanted to visit there. “That’s way too far away for us to visit over spring break. Why don’t you look at some local colleges?” 

“I looked at all of the local colleges, Mom,” I said. “I want to visit Kale.” 

“We’d have to book a flight, and those are expensive.”

“There’s a boy from my school that went to Yale last year. That’s in Connecticut too.” That much was true. I didn’t know the boy very well, but I had heard from just about everyone during my sophomore year that he was going to Yale to major in Theater Studies. All that proved was that he was better at randomly selecting bubbles on his ACT than I was, and he could probably sing better than I could too. 

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?” I asked as I searched for flights to Connecticut. “It’s not like I’m going to get into any of the Ivy Leagues anyways. Wait a second, I found a flight for $300. How does that sound, Mom?” 

“That doesn’t count hotel costs.”

“I’ll plan this whole trip for you. I’ll make it as cheap as possible, as long as I get to visit Kale.” 

Mom sighed. “If you want to go to Kale that badly, then fine.” 

I considered that a victory. As I continued to plan our trip to Connecticut, I thought about everything I could learn from my voyage across the country. I was a traveler braving unknown waters, and I was thrilled to be able to go on the adventure. 

That April, my mother and I finally boarded our plane for Connecticut. It was a long flight, especially since I hadn’t gone very far from home before this. However, even as I sat between a screaming baby and a snoring old man, I could see how the experience could enrich the mind and soul. Already, I was fascinated by how the Vegas lights shrunk away as we flew away from the city. Was this how God, if God existed at all, saw Las Vegas? Were we nothing more than flashing lights in the distance? If it was, I could see how He (She? They? Does God have a gender?) could let horrible things happen in the world. It was hard to remember that there were people in Las Vegas from that distance. 

Six hours and one dull in-flight movie later, Mom and I landed at the airport. We immediately took a taxi to our hotel in Old Haven and then crashed onto our hotel beds, exhausted from our travels. My sleep was full of frenzied dreams that night, though I could hardly remember them the next morning. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait to see the paradise that I was certain existed in the form of Kale University. 

Mom and I departed early the next morning for Kale after eating a mediocre continental breakfast. As soon as we arrived on campus, I knew that I was in love. The campus itself was gorgeous, with architecture that made the whole place feel like a cross between a weathered medieval village and Hogwarts. As I marveled at the buildings, Mom insisted on making our way to the Admissions building. “We’re already running late, Ryan,” Mom said. “Please don’t make it worse. Now where do you think the Shufflebottom Center is?”

“Is that really what it’s called?” I said. 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“That’s ridiculous, but I like it.” 

Mom rolled her eyes and looked over a map, but we had no luck. Eventually, she stopped a tall boy with curly hair to ask for directions. “Excuse me, but are you a student here?” she asked. 

The boy nodded and said, “My name’s Ray. What can I help you with?” 

“We’re really lost,” I said. “Do you know where the Shufflebottom Center is?” 

“How would I know?” Ray said. “Someone left me at a truck stop in Spain when I was studying abroad there last semester - I guess you could say that I’m not too good at directions.” 

A girl came up to us and said, “The Shufflebottom Center is a little bit further down the street.” 

“Thanks,” I said. 

Mom and I walked further down the street, and sure enough, we found a building that was marked as the Shufflebottom Center. As we climbed up to the second floor and checked in, anticipation began to build. I couldn’t wait to explore Kale even further. 

“You’re just in time,” the woman who checked me in said as she handed me a huge folder full of information about Kale. “The tour is just about to start. Why don’t you join Gerard’s group?” 

The woman gestured towards the back of the room, where a boy with dyed black hair led a group of fellow high schoolers and their parents. Mom and I ran over to the group and listened to Gerard as he began his spiel about Kale University. 

“Hey everyone,” Gerard said. “I’m Gerard Way, and I’m a sophomore here at Kale University. I’m majoring in art, I’m from New Jersey, and I’m involved in the Guyliner Club and the Kale University Comic Book Fellowship. Also, you all should join the Greek Friendship Society when you get to Kale, because it’s the greatest Greek organization that Kale has ever seen. It’s inclusive to all genders, and I founded it, so it’s obviously the best.” There was an awkward pause, and then Gerard said, “How about all of you say your name, where you’re from, and what you’d like to study?” 

A small, red-haired girl said, “I’m Hayley Williams, I’m from Tennessee, and I’m planning to study marketing.” 

I was next. “I’m Ryan Ross, I’m from Las Vegas, and I’m going to major in philosophy.” 

“That kid’s never going to get a job,” I heard a woman near me whisper, but I ignored her. 

The short boy with black hair and eyeliner went next. “My name is Pete Wentz, I’m from Chicago, and I’m planning to major in political science. Oh, and I’ve already been accepted here.” 

“Congratulations, Pete,” Gerard said. “I really hope that I’ll get to see you here next year.” 

The other students in their groups introduced themselves, and then Gerard began the tour. “Let’s go take a look at the science building,” he said. He walked backwards out of the building as Pete pestered him about the Guyliner Club. As we headed outside, I thought about how all of us are just walking backwards through our lives, unable to see where we are going and blinded further by the annoying people who already got into college and can’t shut up about their eyeliner. 

Perhaps I’m losing my metaphor, but you get the point. 

Gerard showed us the science building, and although it was impressive, I knew that I probably wouldn’t be doing much there. Then, Hayley asked “Are there general education requirements at Kale?” 

Gerard nodded and said, “All students are required to take one freshman writing course, two humanities courses, two social science courses, one science course, and one math course.” 

_That’s not too bad_ , I thought. I would be able to live through one more math course if it meant that I could spend the rest of my time at Kale studying philosophy. Gerard continued the tour, speaking about the wonders of a Kale education as he walked backwards into the humanities building and the library.

At one point in the tour, Gerard stopped in front of a bronze statue of a man in a polka dotted suit next to a bear. Students from the school had placed a few leaves of kale in the man’s outstretched hand. “This is the founder of Kale University, M.C. Moneybags,” Gerard explained. “Dr. Moneybags is best known for inventing the three hole punch, although he was also passionate about philosophy, to the point that he earned a PhD in the subject. The statue here depicts him in his typical attire of a pink polka dotted suit with his beloved pet, a carnival bear set free, by his side. Moneybags named Kale University after his favorite vegetable, and students often pay tribute to him by placing kale in his hand or on top of his head.” 

Near the end of the tour, we headed towards the edge of the campus to see Gerard’s Greek Friendship Society house. “This is Flack Hall,” Gerard explained as we passed by an old, run down building. “The university was supposed to tear it down after the new freshman dorms were built, but they haven’t gotten around to it. Some of the freshmen still live there. The Greek Friendship Society house is right next door in that little brick house.” 

As expected, there was a little brick house with the letters “DOG” written on the side next to Flack Hall. “It stands for Delta Omicron Gamma, our official name,” Gerard explained. Gerard rambled on about the Greek Friendship Society for a while, but he stopped when a remarkably short boy left the Greek Friendship Society house with a textbook in his hands. 

“Hi Gerard,” the boy said. “Are you with a tour?” Gerard nodded, and the boy said, “Well, I guess we can hang out after class.” 

“Sounds great, Frankie,” Gerard said. He blew Frank a kiss as he headed off to his class. “Let’s go back to the admissions office,” Gerard said. He headed back towards the middle of campus, and the tour group followed him.

When we returned to the Shufflebottom Center, Gerard said, “I hope you enjoyed the tour, and whether you choose Kale or not, I wish all of you the best of luck in your college search. Let me know if you have any additional questions, and remember, it’s not a school, it’s an idea. Have an excellent rest of your day here at Kale University.” 

As Gerard told one of his friends how teenagers scared the living shit out of him, I contemplated his last statement. How could Kale University be an idea and not a school? Wasn’t Kale an institution for education, and thus, a school? Perhaps Gerard was trying to express that Kale was something greater than a mere school, a concept that excited me more than anything. On the other hand, perhaps he was just a troll who liked to make people cry because he was twisted up inside. 

My mom and I had lunch in the school dining hall, and I sat in on one of the freshman seminars, and by the end of the visit, I was certain that I wanted to attend Kale University. The food was delicious (because why would anyone want to live life without igniting their sense of taste?), and the class was intellectually stimulating in a way that my high school classes weren’t. Besides, everything about Kale made me think and question just a little bit harder, and surely, that was what philosophy was all about. 

On the plane ride home, I was convinced that I had to go to Kale. There was no other option for someone like me. I needed to make Kale my home, and although I am well aware that “needs” refer to things like food, water, shelter, and oxygen, I felt like going to Kale University was just as much of a need as any of those things. 

The only challenge that I had left was getting accepted.


	2. How could a seventeen year old say that he's truly experienced failure?

I spent the summer before my senior year on my piano bench, pondering the meaning of life as I bent over the keys. I’ve always found that I think best while playing, and I suspect that it’s because the piano only lets out its secrets when I’m playing another Chopin étude or Beethoven sonata. Whatever it was that the piano knew, I needed all of the brainpower that I could get as I prepared to apply to Kale University, my dream school. 

I did take my guidance counselor’s advice and found a few other schools to apply to, just in case I didn’t get in, but I didn’t love any of them in the way that I loved Kale. Was there any other school out there like Kale? I wasn’t certain, but I doubted it. There was a certain indescribable quality that Kale possessed that I couldn’t seem to find in any other college or university. To be honest, I had no idea what I would do if they rejected me.

I couldn’t bear the thought of going somewhere else, so my best bet was to submit an application to Kale that was so stellar that they wouldn’t have any choice but to admit me, despite my aforementioned low ACT score. I didn’t know how exactly I would do that, but there had to be a way. After all, that boy from my school had gotten into Yale, and that was a much more difficult school to get into. Kale admitted people with mediocre test scores all the time. How painful could the process be? 

On August 1st, in the midst of the dog days of summer, I logged into the Common App and looked over what I had to do to apply to Kale. I briefly glanced out the window at the dry grass and scorching sidewalk, and I then decided that I didn’t give a damn about the weather and shifted my attention back to my computer screen. 

At first, it didn’t look too bad. I had to fill in the Common Application, write a personal statement, answer a few Kale-specific questions, send in a letter of recommendation from one of my teachers, pay seventy five dollars, and possibly sell my soul to Kale University, and then I would be all done. I immediately started filling in my basic information.

_First Name: George  
Middle Name: Ryan  
Last Name: Ross  
Suffix: III  
Preferred Name: Ryan  
Sex: Male  
Date of Birth: August 30th  
Address: 333 Mulholland Boulevard, Las Vegas, Nevada_

I continued to fill in meaningless questions for the rest of the afternoon. However, I froze when I saw the essay prompts. Everything else had been simple enough, with the possible exception of the question about my religion, which I didn’t quite know how to answer in a single word, and the activity section, where I tried to pass off “questioning life, the universe, and everything” as an extracurricular activity. I’d estimate that I spend at least ten hours per week in a state of existential angst. The essays, on the other hand, weren’t nearly that easy. 

At first, I considered writing about the first prompt (some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story), but I then realized that I didn’t have a meaningful background, identity, interest, or talent. I could have written about my dad, but that would have made me depressed, and besides, I had already covered that in the family section. My interests had already been covered in the activities section, I had no talent other than the piano, and how could I write about my identity when I hadn’t yet figured it out myself? No teenager knows who they really are, and in fact, it could be argued that no one knows that. Then again, if nobody understands themself, then who can say for sure that we truly exist? The essay question made no sense to me. 

The second prompt was almost as silly and thoughtless as the first. It asked about an incident or time when I had experienced failure and what I learned from it. I doubted that any kid my age had enough experience to be able to write a meaningful essay about failure. I certainly didn’t. Nevertheless, I considered the second prompt as I looked at the other three possibilities, since I did agree that failure was something that you could learn from.

The third prompt was out of the question, because although I had challenged plenty of beliefs and ideas, it was almost entirely in my head. I considered the fourth prompt for a while, but I determined that though there were many problems that I had an interest in solving, most of them were complex, philosophical questions that likely didn’t have an obvious solution, and if they did, they would require more than 650 words to answer. The fifth prompt didn’t make sense either. It asked me to discuss an event that marked my transition from childhood to adulthood, despite the fact that I didn’t feel like an adult yet. I still went to high school and couldn’t vote, so what made me an adult? Was I supposed to have some sort of reasoning powers that a child wouldn’t have? That seemed unlikely, especially when I looked at some of my classmates. Was there an age at which I was supposed to magically turn into an adult? No matter what the truth was, they were clearly looking for some sort of dramatic coming of age story, likely involving a dead dog, and I didn’t have one. 

In the end, I decided to write about a failure, specifically my initial failures at learning to play the piano, and how I overcame some of my insecurities through my favorite instrument. My dog also made a few cameo appearances in what became a rambling 650 word story that whined about nothing and everything all at once. Needless to say, my English teacher hated it when she read it, but I had no real desire to rewrite the whole essay, so I fixed my spelling and grammar errors and sent it to Kale University, along with the rest of my application and a letter of recommendation from my history teacher. It wasn’t the greatest essay in the world, but it was the best that I could come up with without sacrificing my grades or social life. Hopefully, it would be enough to get me into Kale. 

Then, the worst part came: waiting to see whether or not Kale would accept me. For the next several months, I raced to the mailbox every single day to see if there was anything from Kale. Although I did find plenty of advertisements from other schools, I didn’t get a response from Kale. Ever after the other schools that I had applied to accepted or rejected me, I still didn’t get a reply from my favorite school. 

By the end of March, I began to question whether or not Kale had received my application at all. There was a small chance that it had gotten lost amongst the thousands of applications that the Kale University admissions department had to read each year. However, I knew that after all of this suffering, some good news had to be on its way, so I remained hopeful that my acceptance was on its way. 

April arrived, and I tried to push Kale out of my mind and look at my other options. None of them measured up to Kale, but perhaps I could be happy somewhere else. After all, it was just a school, or so I tried to tell myself. The school wasn’t in control of my destiny or my happiness, but if that was the case, then what was? I didn’t like the idea of being nothing more than a puppet to God or fate, but there was plenty of proof out there that I wasn’t in control of my own destiny either. If I was truly the master of my own fate, I would have been admitted to Kale far sooner than I actually was. 

The end of the school year was approaching fast, and many of my classmates had already made their college decisions. I was beginning to lose hope. As Emmanuel Levinas once put it, the best thing about philosophy is that it fails, but the last thing I wanted was to fail to be accepted to Kale University. I wondered whether this was it, the time for me to experience failure and learn from it. Before long, I stopped anticipating my arrival of my acceptance letter, and I started dreading the arrival of my rejection letter.

One rainy April day, I opened up my mailbox and found a thick envelope from Kale University addressed to George Ryan Ross III. Needless to say, I had torn the envelope open before I even made it back inside the house. 

_Dear Ryan,_

_Congratulations! On behalf of the Kale University faculty and staff, I am delighted to inform you of your admission to Kale University as a member of the Class of 2021_ …

“MOM!” I shouted as I ran into the kitchen holding up my acceptance letter. 

“What is it, Ryan?” Mom asked. 

“I got into Kale!” I squealed, barely able to control myself. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs from all of the excitement. 

“That’s great, Ryan,” Mom said as she enveloped me in a hug. “Now, all you have to do is make a decision.” 

“Mom, I think you know what my decision is going to be.”

She nodded and then said, “I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions quite yet. You haven’t gotten your financial aid back from Kale.” 

Unfortunately, Mom was right. My acceptance letter was useless if I couldn’t pay for a Kale education. Perhaps it was money that was controlling my destiny. I couldn’t even count the number of things that I hadn’t done because I couldn’t pay for it, and I crossed my fingers that money wouldn’t stop me from going to Kale.

A few weeks later, my financial aid letter arrived. Just like I had with the acceptance letter, I pulled it out of the mailbox and tore it open before I got to the door. At that moment, it looked like fate or money or luck or whatever had determined my destiny had finally swung my way. 

With a combination of need-based aid and scholarships, Kale University had completely covered my tuition.

Not only was Kale my favorite school by far, but now, it was also the cheapest. My decision was practically made for me. I immediately told the good news to my mom, who broke down into tears of joy. “Ryan, this is a miracle,” she said as she gave me a hug. “We won’t have to pay a cent for your education.” 

I, on the other hand, was grinning like a maniac. This, I was sure, was what victory felt like. Despite all of the troubles that had led up to my Kale application, I was going there on a full ride. I couldn’t believe my luck. 

At the back of mind, I had a nagging feeling that Kale had mixed me up with someone else. My test scores weren’t great, my grades were decent, but not amazing, and my essay barely answered the prompt. Then again, I hadn’t experienced real failure, so how could I answer the essay question in the way that they wanted me to? 

None of that mattered now. I was going to Kale University, and who cares about failure when you’ve experienced success?


	3. What qualities are best in a person?

My life became even more complicated the day that I got another email from Kale University, this time telling me that I had been added to a Facebook group called “Kale University Freshman Boys Roommate Search 2017.” As soon as I got the notification, I opened up the page and scrolled through the posts. There seemed to be an endless number of people looking for roommates, and scrolling through all of them nearly gave me a headache. 

The first post on the page was from a boy named Joe Trohman, which I accidentally misread as Joe Trohham when I first read it.

_Hello everyone! My name is Joe, and I can’t wait to attend Kale University in the fall. I’m passionate about Star Wars, my guitar, and theoretical physics. I’m planning to live in Flack Hall, and although most people say that it’s the worst dorm, it can’t be that bad. It’s right next to the science building! Would anyone like to be my roommate?_

There were two replies to that post. 

_Eduardo Gonzales: Don’t live in Flack. My sister lived there last year, and she said that it sucked. It’s so far away from everything, and the Greek Friendship Society will keep you up all night._

_Joe Trohman: Disregard this post. I already found a roommate._

I kept scrolling and found another post that looked interesting. 

_Hey guys! My name is Andy Hurley, and I’m planning to double major in environmental studies and political science at Kale. I’m a proud straightedge, and I love Crossfit. Let me know if you’d like to be my roommate!_

Andy seemed like a cool person, if a little bit intimidating, and I was contemplating sending him a private message to see if he wanted to be my roommate until I saw that someone else had already replied. 

_Joe Trohman: I’d love to be your roommate, Andy!_

_Andy Hurley: Cool. Do you have a preference as to which residence hall we should live in?_

_Joe Trohman: I kind of want to live in Flack._

_Andy: I’m fine with that. Let’s submit our housing requests._

I scrolled through more posts, but it looked like most of the people who had posted had already found roommates. By this point, I was starting to question what I was really looking for in a roommate. Did I want someone who would care about me and my problems? Did I want someone who would be honest with me? Did I want someone who I could have a long intense conversation about morality and ethics with? I wasn’t quite sure. 

There had to be something else that could make someone a perfect roommate. There were plenty of people, especially at Kale, who were kind, trustworthy, and intelligent, but that didn’t necessarily make them great people to live with. Besides, most of those people had already found people to room with. I knew that there must be some sort of secret ingredient that I hadn’t seen yet in anyone. 

Then again, I wasn’t the best person to talk about this. I had never shared a room before in my life, and as an only child, I had lived with only my mother for most of my life. Living in the same room as someone else at Kale would be a new experience for me, and perhaps I wasn’t the right person to say what would make someone a perfect roommate. 

While I considered what I was looking for, another person posted on the Facebook page. 

_Hi everyone! I’m Patrick Stump, and I’m so excited to start school here in the fall! Here are a few facts about me:_

_1\. I’m from Chicago.  
2\. I made this Facebook account for the purpose of roommate searching, because I’m never on the Internet.   
3\. I love music!   
4\. After college, I want to be a veterinarian so I can play with bunnies all day. _

_That’s all! Would anyone like to be my roommate?_

I immediately clicked on Patrick’s Facebook page, which had absolutely nothing on it with the exception of a blurry picture of the bespectacled boy that also served as his profile picture. I then sent him a message. “Hi Patrick!” I wrote. “I saw your post on the Kale University Roommate Search page, and you seem like a sweet guy, but I have a question.”

Patrick, to my surprise, replied right away. “Hello Ryan!” he wrote. “It’s very nice to meet you. What’s your question?”

“Do you like the Beatles?” I asked. 

“I was in a Beatles cover band once. Does that count?”

Already, I knew that I had found the perfect roommate. Once Patrick said that, I realized that finding someone else who loved the Beatles as much as I did was the one thing that I was really looking for in a roommate. I just had to ask him a few more questions to ensure that Patrick was truly the perfect roommate that I envisioned in my head. 

“I’d say that it does,” I wrote to Patrick. 

“What’s your opinion on the Beatles?” he asked me. 

“They’re my favorite band,” I replied. “Do you have a favorite album or song?” 

“I like most of their music. How about you?” 

“I like most of their music too, but I think Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is especially wonderful. There’s something about that album that makes it an excellent soundtrack for daydreaming, and it always makes me feel better about life when I listen to it. The Beatles are kind of like nature’s therapist.” 

“That’s neat, though I’ve never thought of the Beatles in that way. Just out of curiosity, what are your plans for when you get to Kale?”

“I’m going to be a philosophy major. I just find the subject to be simply fascinating.” 

“That’s interesting. I’m planning to major in biology, because I love animals and I want to go to vet school after I graduate from Kale. What clubs do you want to join?” 

“I’m probably joining the Guyliner Club and the Cookie Baking Club. I suppose I’ll see what else there is when I get there. I’d love to learn more about the various student organizations at Kale, but the tours don’t do a great job of telling you what it’s really like to be a Kale student.” 

“I agree. I’ve been on so many college visits that all of the schools seem to blur together. They all seem the same.” 

“Then again, having a tour that would tell you what it would be like to be a Kale student would be like having a tour that would predict the future, but that’s not possible,” I wrote. “Or is it? What if time travel actually is possible? Would that make the past or future more real? Is the future real at all? Maybe only the present exists, or maybe the present and the past both exist, but the future doesn’t, or maybe the block theory is correct, and it’s all equally real. Who can say for sure?” 

“Holy smokes Ryan, what are you doing?” 

“Sorry, Patrick. I just got sidetracked. It happens a lot.” 

“It’s okay. Anyways, I was thinking of joining the Cookie Baking Club too. Maybe we should go together!” 

“That sounds great. I’d love to check it out with you.” 

“Do you have any more questions?” 

“I have a lot more questions, but most of them are about the nature of the universe.” 

“We don’t need to go into that right now,” Patrick wrote, to my disappointment. He then followed it up with, “Would you like to be my roommate?” 

I thought about it for a second and then replied, “I’d love to be your roommate, Patrick. You seem nice, and more importantly, you like the Beatles.” 

“Believe it or not, ‘Across The Universe’ just came on,” Patrick messaged me. 

“That song is so beautiful. Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup...but how can rain be endless? A storm always stops eventually, and words can’t flow endlessly either. Even the longest of novels has an end to it. Everything has an end, so ‘endless’ is kind of a meaningless word, so why did John Lennon use it?” 

“It’s just a song lyric.”

“I know, and it is a pretty lyric. Maybe he meant that words are flowing out almost endlessly? That would make more sense, but it wouldn’t fit the rhythm of the song, so I can see why he resorted to ‘endless’ rain.” 

“So do you want to submit our housing request?” Patrick asked. 

“I’ll go do that. I’ll talk to you soon, Patrick.” 

“Bye Ryan.” 

I closed the Facebook page and opened up the housing request form. I immediately started filling in my information, and of course, I requested to have Patrick Stump as my roommate. I smiled as I wrote in some more information and thought of my Beatles-loving roommate. Already, I was certain that he would be an excellent companion for my first year at Kale University. 

However, I came across an issue when I had to select the residence hall that I wanted to live in. I tried to select the Freshman Quad, but an error message popped up on my computer. 

“Attention!” the message read. “This dormitory is full. Please select a different building to live in.” 

Where would I live if I couldn’t live in the Freshman Quad? Most of the other residence halls were only open to upperclassmen. I returned to Facebook and saw that I had another message from Patrick. 

“It looks like the only other residence hall that isn’t full and is open to freshmen is Flack Hall,” Patrick said. “We’ll both have to live there.” 

I didn’t respond to Patrick, but I considered everything that I had heard about Flack Hall. Other people clearly had strong opinions on living in Flack, but then again, I had never lived there myself. I would just have to see what it was like when I got there, and then I could form my opinion on it. 

I returned to the housing request form and selected Flack Hall. Despite the fact that I wasn’t in the best dorm on campus, I was happy with how the roommate selection and housing process had turned out. When I came to Kale in the fall, I would live with a fellow Beatles fan, and that was all that I had asked for. Now, I had one more thing that I could look forward to, along with my philosophy classes and new friends: a perfect roommate.


	4. Why is saying goodbye so painful?

“I don’t just want to be a footnote in someone else’s happiness,” a girl in my math class read off of the brand new Kale University T-shirt that my mother had bought for me online. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I had thought about that question myself, but I’d concluded that the new Kale University slogan was self-explanatory. It was only encouraging people like me to carve out their own place in the world, instead of working too hard to make other people happy. Certainly, there had to be some value in making others happy, but I did appreciate the sentiment of the new slogan. Hopefully, Kale University would give me the tools that I needed to be more than just a footnote. 

I didn’t get a chance to respond to my classmate before the teacher addressed the whole class. “Congratulations to all of our graduating seniors,” she said. “It’s great to see everyone in their college gear for Decision Day. Although, Ryan, I have to ask: what school is that T-shirt for? I don’t think any of the schools around here have black and red as their school colors.” 

“It’s for Kale University,” I said. In my mind, I was already at Kale, making new friends and enriching my mind in ways that my high school never could. 

“I’ve never heard of that school,” the teacher said.

“Kale?” one of my classmates chimed in. “Don’t you mean Yale?” 

“No, I mean Kale,” I said. “I’m not smart enough to go to Yale.” 

“I didn’t know that there was a school called Kale,” the girl said. “Where is it?” 

“Old Haven, Connecticut,” I said. 

“Oh come on. You’re definitely confusing it with Yale.” 

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her all about the wonders of Kale University, but the teacher quickly moved on to the day’s lesson on integrals, and I crashed back down to reality. I still had another month left in high school, no matter how badly I wanted to be at Kale already. 

The last month of high school was a blur. Time seemed to fly by, and it was impossible to tell whether it was really flying or if it was just an illusion caused by my excitement over attending Kale in the fall. Before I knew it, it was graduation day. 

In the terms and conditions of the Common Application, it says that your acceptance to any school is dependent on your “honorable dismissal” from your current high school. I could only imagine how much better graduations would be if they were honorable dismissals. There would be no need for a cap and gown, and the ceremony itself would last about two minutes. The principal would simply tell all of us that we were honorably dismissed, and we would leave, and high school would be over. 

Unfortunately, that’s not what happened at my high school graduation. Instead, I sat through two hours of speeches and far too many renditions of Pomp and Circumstance before the magical moment finally arrived. 

“Ryan Ross!” I heard the principal say. 

“I love you, Ryan!” Mom screamed. I stood up and walked up to the stage, accepted my diploma, and returned to my seat, slightly embarrassed, but mostly just wondering whether the diploma that I held in my hands meant anything. It wasn’t like I was going to get a decent job with a high school diploma alone, and even a college degree didn’t guarantee success in life. Did the celebration mean anything if the diploma didn’t? My heart sank as I listened to the principal call the rest of my fellow students’ names and I realized the pointlessness of it all. Why do we do so many things that have no meaning? Isn’t it such a waste of our short lives? 

My spirits were lifted when I thought of Kale again. Before long, my high school career would be over and I would be at my dream school. Who cared if graduation or high school had meant nothing? College would surely be a meaningful experience. I thought of Old Haven’s beautiful architecture and the Facebook messages that I had exchanged with Patrick as I patiently waited through the rest of the ceremony. 

I tossed my cap into the air with the rest of the student body, and finally, the nightmare that was high school was over. At last, I was honorably dismissed. 

The summer before my freshman year at Kale University was uneventful. I spent most of it walking my dog, practicing the piano, reading and re-reading my favorite books, and telling everyone I knew how wonderful Kale would be. Most of the people in Las Vegas didn’t even know that Kale existed, and they didn’t understand just how amazing Kale was even after I explained it to them, but at least my mom seemed happy for me. 

Despite the number of people who didn’t understand my love for Kale University, I couldn’t wait to go there. The only thing that kept me going through my last summer before college was the knowledge that I would go to Kale in August, and that it would be the greatest experience of my life. 

The summer seemed to drag on forever, and I wondered why the universe felt the need to stretch out my anticipation. The more I wanted time to speed up so I could get to Kale faster, the more it seemed to slow down. However, that fateful August day did arrive, and I finally got to go back to Old Haven, this time as a brand new college student. 

Mom and I went to McCarran International Airport early that morning, with all of my belongings split up between the two of us. Just like I had with my previous trip to Kale, I watched the Vegas lights dwindle away until even the individual buildings seemed to disappear under the clouds. Because I have terrible luck, I ended up directly in front of a crying toddler who managed to spend the entire flight kicking the back of my seat, but it was all worth it for Kale.

After we landed at the airport, Mom and I caught a taxi to Old Haven. “You’re one of the new Kale students, right?” the taxi driver said to me when she saw all of my luggage. 

“Yes, I am,” I said, grinning. Already, it felt wonderful to tell people that I was a student at Kale. 

“I can’t believe my son’s going off to college already!” Mom said. 

“Mom, it’s fine,” I said. “You can call me whenever you need me.” 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Ryan. I’ve spent eighteen years of my life taking care of you, and now you’re leaving!” 

“You’ll be fine, Mom. I will miss you though.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” Mom said.

The taxi pulled up in front of the Kale University campus, and I grabbed all of my suitcases and hopped out. I then took a deep breath and then walked through the Kale University gates for the first time as a student. It was an unbelievable feeling, like a new era had begun in my life. 

Once I arrived on campus, however, I had no idea how to get to my residence hall. I looked around frantically, but the only person I knew was my mom, and she didn’t know where Flack Hall was. After only a few moments, I began to panic. 

An older, dark-skinned woman came up to me and said, “Are you looking for your residence hall?” 

I nodded and said, “I’m supposed to be at Flack Hall.” 

“I’ll walk you there,” the woman said. “I’m Professor Caldwell, and I teach philosophy here at Kale.” 

“That’s so cool,” I said. “I’m Ryan Ross, and I want to major in philosophy.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Professor Caldwell said. “I hope to see you in my Introduction to Philosophy class this semester.” 

As it turned out, Flack Hall was quite far away from the Kale University gates. Then again, maybe the isolation would be good. Perhaps it would help me bond with the other freshmen living in Flack without all of the upperclassmen interfering. As much as I hate to admit it, human interaction is good for the soul. 

Flack Hall was an ancient little building sitting right at the corner of campus, and Professor Caldwell walked me right up to its doorstep. “Do you need any help unloading your stuff?” she asked me. 

“No, I think I’m okay,” I said as I pulled all of my luggage into Flack Hall. My room was on the second floor, but I was certain that I could make it there. 

As I mentioned earlier, I almost always have horrible luck. Everything seems to go wrong in my life when I least expect it, and I’m not sure if fate has some sort of grudge against me or not. Simple mathematics can’t possibly explain my luck. 

I didn’t have too hard of a time rolling my luggage through the first floor of Flack Hall, but I didn’t realize that the residence hall didn’t have an elevator. I would have to drag all of my stuff up a flight of stairs, which would be tough, but I knew that I could do it. 

I began carrying my suitcases up the stairs, but the weight was killing me. There was no air conditioning in Flack Hall, so sweat dripped down my forehead as I tried to haul my heaviest suitcase upstairs. By the time Mom made it up, I had only made it halfway, and I was struggling to get all of my luggage upstairs. 

“Ryan! I think I found your dorm room!” Mom exclaimed as I continued to desperately pull my bags upstairs, boiling in the summer heat. I tried to respond to her, but I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs. 

For a moment, I couldn’t move, but perhaps this was all just a cruel joke that God wanted to play on me, symbolizing my slavery to my fate. There was no way to tell. Whether it was a cruel joke or just a result of my poor coordination, I was stuck at the bottom of the staircase, watching the world spin as two other freshmen chatted next to me. Mom hadn’t seen me fall, so even she couldn’t help me. 

“What just happened?” a girl said as she looked in my direction. 

“He can’t be bleeding on the floor just for the attention,” someone else said. 

“Yeah, that’s just ridiculously odd,” the first girl said. 

All of a sudden, a short boy wearing a fedora entered Flack Hall. He immediately noticed me lying on the floor and ran to my side. “Are you okay?” he asked as he tapped my shoulder. 

“I’m not okay,” I said. “I promise.” 

I raised my head slightly to get a better look at the boy. He had brown hair and blue-green eyes, and he was wearing a shirt, socks, and a hat. “What’s wrong?” the boy asked as he gave me a concerned look. 

“I fell down the stairs while I was trying to get my stuff up to my dorm room,” I explained. 

“Here, I’ll help you get your stuff up there,” the boy said as he helped me off the ground. “Your leg is bleeding a little bit, but I have a first aid kit in one of my suitcases. We can get that fixed up in a moment.” 

“Don’t you have your own stuff to carry?” I said. 

“I’ll get it later,” the boy said. “I’m Patrick, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“I’m Ryan,” I said. “Wait, my roommate’s name is Patrick. Are there two Patricks living here? That would be pretty odd, but what’s in a name anyways?” 

“Which room are you in?” Patrick asked. 

“I’m in Room 27.”

“So am I.”

“You don’t look like your Facebook profile picture at all.”

Patrick shrugged and said, “I’m not on the Internet all that much.”

Between the two of us, Patrick and I got all of our stuff up to the second floor, and as promised, Patrick helped me bandage my injured leg. Then, we turned on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and we spent the rest of the evening decorating our shared dorm room with inspirational quotes from famous philosophers, posters of our favorite bands, and pictures of our friends and family from back home. My mother and Patrick’s parents helped us move in, and by the end of the day, our dorm room was starting to feel a little bit more like home. 

At around eleven o’clock, I heard someone knock on the door. I opened the door and saw someone that I recognized from the Facebook roommate search page. “Hey, I’m Andy, and I live in the dorm room next to you guys,” the boy said. “Could you turn down the music a little? Joe and I are trying to sleep.” 

“Fine,” I said as I turned down the music slightly. Andy was right: it was getting late.

“I should probably go,” Mom said a few minutes later as tears came to her eyes. She gave me a hug and said, “Goodbye Ryan. I love you so much, and I’ll miss you when you’re away.” 

“I love too, Mom,” I said, blinking away tears. After a few minutes, Mom let go and walked out the door, leaving me all alone in an unfamiliar dorm room. Watching her go pained me more than anything, but it was all because I cared about her. Mom had sacrificed so much of her life for me, and now we would both be alone. No wonder saying goodbye hurt both of us so much. 

I turned off the music, switched off the lights, and climbed into bed. Even with Patrick snoring softly on the other side of the room, my mind couldn’t stop thinking of my mother driving back to a hotel room on the other side of town. I comforted myself by remembering that I hadn’t truly lost her. I could call Mom whenever I needed her, after all. I drifted off to sleep before long, with thoughts of my future at Kale floating through my mind.


	5. Is this real, or is it all in my head?

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Patrick blasting an Elvis Costello song in my ears. I rolled over in bed, a little bit disoriented and quite worried that I had missed some essential part of New Student Orientation, but all of that went away when I saw that it was five o’clock in the morning. “Patrick, go back to bed,” I mumbled.

“Come on, Ryan,” he said. “The sun is already up, so it’s time to get ready. The dining hall opens in only half an hour!” 

“Let me get some sleep,” I said as I squeezed my eyes shut. 

Patrick turned down his music slightly, but it was still too loud for me to go back to sleep, so at around seven o’clock, I crawled out of bed. Patrick was already gone, and everyone else in the residence hall was still asleep, so I got ready for my first full day at Kale University. Once I was ready to go, I walked to the dining hall, which, like everything else at Kale, was nowhere near Flack Hall. 

I ate alone that day, though I was used to that. I almost always ate lunch by myself in high school, but I thought that things might be different in college. Before I came to Kale, I imagined that I might be able to find someone who would put up with my habit of building philosophies from pieces of broken memories, but my loneliness seemed to have persisted into college. It was still early though. My luck could still change.

After breakfast, I walked past the statue of M.C. Moneybags and headed into the Shufflebottom Center, where all of the freshmen were supposed to meet for our New Student Orientation meetings, which mostly consisted of various faculty and staff members lecturing at us for hours on end. It all felt a little unreal, like I was in a strange dream. I spent most of New Student Orientation lost in thought, wondering when the life that I had dreamed of would finally begin. 

After a few days of meetings and team building exercises, I finally got to choose my classes. The meeting with my adviser wasn’t until nine o’clock, but for some reason, Patrick felt the need to wake me up at five again. I was barely awake when I walked to the Shufflebottom Center, where I was supposed to meet my adviser. I stood around for a few minutes, unsure of what to do, until a middle aged man in a suit approached me and asked, “Are you Ryan Ross?” 

“Yes, I am,” I said. 

“Follow me,” the man said. He led me into an office and said, “I’m Professor Romero, and I’ll be your adviser for your first year here at Kale. Let’s try and pick a few classes for your first semester. Have you looked over the course catalog yet?” 

“A little bit,” I said. “I definitely want to take Metaphysics. I feel like I’ve been questioning my own existence a lot lately. You know, I fell down the stairs in Flack Hall the first day I got here, and I’ve been wondering if any of it happened at all, but my leg hurt like crazy, so it must have been real. It’s like pinching yourself, but stronger. Sometimes you’ve got to bleed to know that you’re alive and have a soul. Then again, all of this only confirms that I’m real. It doesn’t say anything about me being alive or having a soul. Maybe I’m a soulless zombie or something and just can’t tell…” 

Professor Romero rolled his eyes and said, “You must another one of those overly whiny philosophical kids that this institution seems to attract. Unfortunately for you, Metaphysics requires Introduction to Philosophy as a prerequisite. Do you want me to put you down for that?” 

“That’s fine,” I responded. 

“I’ll also need to put you in a Freshman Writing Seminar,” Professor Romero said. “What else would you like to take? Remember, you should probably get your general education requirements done as quickly as possible.” 

I groaned. “Do I have to take math?” I asked Professor Romero. 

“Yes, but we have a number of options for courses that fulfill Kale’s math requirement,” Professor Romero said as he handed me a sheet of paper with a list of math courses. 

I looked over the paper, and almost all of the courses seemed dull, but there was one that caught my eye. “What’s Great People of Mathematics?” I asked. 

“I don’t know why that’s on there,” Professor Romero said. “It’s not a real math course, but it does fulfill the math requirement.” 

“I’ll take it.”

Professor Romero jotted something down and then asked, “What else would you like to take? I’d recommend taking one or two more courses.” 

“I’ll take Advanced Piano Studies,” I said. 

“So you’d like to take Introduction to Philosophy, the Freshman Writing Seminar, Great People of Mathematics, and Advanced Piano Studies,” Professor Romero said. “Is that correct?” 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Excellent,” Professor Romero said. “Ryan, you can go.” 

I left the office and attended a handful of required presentations on life as a freshman at Kale before returning to my residence hall. A few more days of New Student Orientation went by, and the day before classes were supposed to start, students with suitcases and moving boxes descended upon the Kale University campus once again. I watched from my dorm room as upperclassmen hauled their stuff into the Greek Friendship Society house next door. I swore I even spotted my tour guide from when I visited Kale as a high schooler. 

Once everyone had moved in, I decided to go to bed, but obnoxiously loud music began pumping into Flack Hall from the Greek Friendship Society house. I tossed and turned, hoping that I could find a sleeping position that would keep all of the noise from reaching my ears, but it was in vain. I would just have to suffer through another sleepless night. 

I had barely gotten any sleep by the time the clock struck 5 AM, and though the Greek Friendship Society had quieted down, Patrick jumped out of bed and turned on another Elvis Costello song. “Can you at least play the Beatles?” I muttered. 

“What?” Patrick said. “You don’t like Elvis Costello?” 

“It’s not really my style,” I said as I pulled the blankets back over my body. However, sleep still evaded me, even after Patrick left to ensure that he was the first one in the dining hall. The night had left my mind foggy, and I wondered whether Patrick, Kale University, or the Greek Friendship Society were real at all. There was no obvious test for that like there was to prove that I was real. Perhaps I would just need to accept that there was no way to tell whether anything in my life was real other than my own mind. 

I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was some way to tell whether it was real or not. I crawled out of bed after Patrick left and reached up to touch it, but my eyes and nerves could be betraying me. Perhaps the ceiling wasn’t there at all, and I was standing under the rising sun. There was just no way to tell, especially with my sleep-deprived brain. 

My first class that day was Introduction to Philosophy at ten o’clock, followed by my Freshman Writing Seminar at noon. By one o’clock, I would be done with all of my classes for the day. I had so much time on my hands that I didn’t know what to do with, but I had to get through those two classes first. 

In the dining hall, I found Patrick finishing up his breakfast. “Hi Ryan,” he said as he took a sip of his orange juice. “What do you think of the food here?” 

“It’s not bad,” I said as I sliced up a pancake. 

“I agree, but it’s not the same as my mom’s pumpkin squares,” Patrick said. “She said that she’d send some to me next week. When’s your first class?” 

“I have Introduction to Philosophy at ten,” I said. “How about you?”

“My Freshman Writing Seminar is at eight,” Patrick said. 

“Why would you take a class that’s so early in the morning?” 

Patrick shrugged. “I’m a morning person.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said. 

Patrick looked at the clock and said, “I should head over to Danzig Hall. I’ll see you later, Ryan.” 

“Bye Patrick,” I said. I finished the rest of my breakfast and then walked around campus for a while, searching for some proof that this wasn’t all just a dream. I was at Kale University, the school that I dreamed of for so long, but something felt off. I couldn’t quite tell what. 

At ten o’clock, I walked to the Hildebrant Building and attended my very first class at Kale. Professor Caldwell, the woman who had so helpfully shown me where to find Flack Hall, was my professor, and we went over the syllabus for the course. She also introduced the class to philosophical arguments, which I found to be quite fascinating. At last, I was beginning to see a glimpse of the philosophical paradise that I had imagined Kale to be. 

After class, I went to the dining hall and ate my lunch. Sadly, Patrick was in biology class at the time, so I ate alone again. I nearly fell asleep during my lunch, and I had to run to make it to my freshman seminar. When I finally made it into the classroom, I had no idea where to sit. I had felt rather comfortable in my philosophy class, where the desks were arranged in a circle, but the writing class had opted for a more traditional arrangement. After some contemplation, I picked a seat in the back of the classroom, and a few minutes later, someone sat next to me. 

“Hey there,” he said. “I’m Joe Trohman. What’s your name?” 

“Ryan Ross,” I said. “Wait, you live in the dorm next to mine, right?” 

“I think so,” Joe said. “I didn’t realize how loud the Greek Friendship Society was. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.” 

“Me neither,” I said. 

The class started, and like in my philosophy class, the professor began class by welcoming us freshmen to Kale and going over the syllabus. “I don’t get the point of this class,” Joe commented. “I’m here to study physics, not writing a paper.” 

“Well, you’re better off than me already,” I joked. “I’m going to major in philosophy.” 

“Not really,” Joe said. “I’m concentrating in theoretical physics, so I think we have equally horrible chances of getting jobs. Apparently employers don’t like people whose main talent is thinking about things that don’t exist.” 

“That’s unfortunate, because I’m pretty sure that we can’t tell if anything really exists,” I said. 

“You’re right about that,” Joe said. “According to the Copenhagen Interpretation, there’s nothing to say that a particle should exist in any given state rather than another. Maybe all particles are actually in a state of nonexistence.” 

Joe and I started a long discussion about quantum mechanics and the nature of the universe that was occasionally interrupted by our professor. By the end of the class, I knew that I could at the very least say that I had one friend at Kale. 

After that class, I had no idea what to do, so I wandered over to Alumni Hall to take a look at the bulletin board. Ads for just about every club at Kale were posted there, but one poster caught my eye. It featured a photo of a young man applying eyeliner along with the following text. 

_DO YOU THINK THAT MAKEUP IS GREAT FOR A GUY?  
If you love guyliner as much as we do, join Kale University’s one and only Guyliner Club! Our first meeting of the year is on Tuesday September 5th at 4:00 PM in the Pendragon Center. Questions? Contact Club President Gerard Way at gway18@kale.edu. _

Needless to say, the flyer excited my guyliner-loving soul. Already, I knew what I was going to be doing at 4:00 on September 5th, and I couldn’t wait to see what the Guyliner Club was all about, whether they were real or not.


	6. Why can't guys wear eyeliner?

Why can’t guys wear eyeliner? 

“Ryan, what are you doing?” Patrick asked me as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in Flack Hall, carefully drawing dark spirals around my eyes. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I replied as my eyeliner pen slipped. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror again and decided that I would fix it after I was done talking to Patrick. “I’m going to the Guyliner Club meeting today, and I need to look my very best.” 

“I didn’t know that Kale had a Guyliner Club,” Patrick said as he adjusted his glasses. 

“The first Guyliner Club meeting is today,” I said. “Do you want to come with me?” 

“No thanks,” Patrick said. 

“Suit yourself,” I said as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. It had taken me a little bit longer than I expected, but it looked amazing, at least in my opinion. I put my eyeliner pens away and headed downstairs, and as I did, the other residents of Flack Hall gave me wide-eyed stares. 

“Are you going to a costume party or something?” one girl who lived on the first floor asked me. 

“No, I’m going to the Guyliner Club meeting,” I said. 

I had gotten similar reactions when I had worn eyeliner in high school, but I had learned to ignore other people’s judgments. I’ve always believed in following what feels right and expressing yourself honestly, and over time, I’ve discovered that I’m the sort of guy who enjoys wearing makeup. Wearing eyeliner had always felt right for me, regardless of any gender norms that might say otherwise. Determining vices and virtues can be tricky sometimes (there’s a whole branch of philosophy dedicated to it), but sometimes it’s no more complicated than what your instincts say is right. 

I walked across the campus, passing by rows of Greek houses on my way to the Pendragon Center. It was a lovely September afternoon, but I couldn’t help but worry. What if the other members of the Guyliner Club didn’t like me? Perhaps I was being petty, but I desperately wanted friends who shared my love for guyliner. I hadn’t had anyone like that in high school, although so far, I had found that college students were more accepting than high schoolers were. Maybe I could find a friend at last. 

I opened the doors of the Pendragon Center, but I didn’t see anyone in there other than a receptionist. Was this another cruel joke? I knew that my luck was bad, but this seemed particularly horrible. If God existed, was this His/Her/Their way of telling me not to wear guyliner? The thought was already making me feel a bit disenchanted. 

I stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before the receptionist asked, “Are you looking for something?” 

“Do you happen to know if this is where the Guyliner Club is meeting?” I asked. 

The receptionist nodded and said, “They’re upstairs.” 

I climbed up to the second floor, and I walked around until I spotted a group of four people sitting and chatting in an empty classroom. “Is this the Guyliner Club meeting?” I asked. 

A rather familiar young man smiled and said, “See guys? I told you that we would get a new member!” He then turned to me and said, “Yes, this is the Guyliner Club meeting. I’m Gerard Way, the club president.” 

“I’m Ryan Ross,” I said as I shook Gerard’s hand. 

I took a seat next to Gerard, who had his arm around the short, dark-haired boy sitting next to him. “Alright, why don’t we all introduce ourselves to Ryan? I’ll go first. I’m Gerard, he/him pronouns, I’m a senior, I’m majoring in art, and I love guyliner! Frank, you’re next.” 

The boy next to Gerard said, “I’m Frank, he/him pronouns, I’m a junior, and I’m majoring in psych. Gerard made me join this club, and I joined because I love him.” 

“Aww, thanks Frankie,” Gerard said. 

The woman sitting next to Frank leaned over and asked, “Gerard, now that we have a new member, can I quit?” 

“Absolutely not,” Gerard said. 

“But this is the Guyliner Club, and I’m not even a guy!” she complained. 

“Don’t you have a shirt that says ‘Gender Is Over?’” 

“Yes.”

“That’s my response to you,” Gerard said. “Gender is over. Who cares what gender you are? You can still be in the Guyliner Club.” 

“I don’t want to be in the Guyliner Club.”

“Sorry, but you’re stuck here,” Gerard said. “We need all of the members we can get.” 

The woman rolled her eyes and said, “Fine. I’m Laura Jane Grace, she/her pronouns, I’m a senior political science major, and I don’t know why I’m here. We’re over the minimum amount of people needed to be a club now!” 

The boy next to Laura, who had the most impressive makeup out of everyone in the Guyliner Club, said, “I’m Pete Wentz, he/him pronouns, I’m a sophomore, I’m also majoring in poli sci, and makeup is great for a guy because it makes a guy look beautiful. That’s everyone, right Gerard?” 

“Right,” Gerard said. “By the way, Pete, why haven’t you joined the Greek Friendship Society yet?” 

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “I...uh...er...I’m allergic to dogs! That’s why I haven’t joined!” 

Frank gasped and said, “That must be horrible! How do you live?” 

“What do dogs have to do with the Greek Friendship Society?” I asked. 

“We’re the only house that allows dogs,” Gerard explained. “You should join, Ryan. It’s the best Greek organization on campus.” 

“Ryan, don’t listen to him,” Laura said. “Form your own opinions.”

“We’re having a party next week,” Gerard said. “You should go.” 

“I’ll consider it,” I said, and I was telling the truth. New experiences are always beneficial for enriching the mind, and although I probably wouldn’t join the Greek Friendship Society, going to one of their parties might be fun. 

“Awesome,” Gerard said, smiling. “Laura? Frank? You guys will be there, right?” 

“I’ll come,” Laura said. 

“Gerard, I live in your house,” Frank said. “You know I’ll be there.” 

“I know you will, Frank,” Gerard said as he held the smaller boy’s hand. 

Pete looked towards me and said, “Hey Ryan, your eyeliner looks awesome. How did you do it?” 

“Thanks, yours looks great too,” I said. I then went into a rather long explanation of how I had spent all of that time putting on my makeup. After I finished, I asked Pete, “Do you have any tips?” 

Pete shrugged and said, “I don’t put too much effort into my guyliner, but I love wearing it.” However, he did give me a few useful tips that made it clear that he did know a thing or two about makeup. 

“I’ve been experimenting with red eye makeup lately,” Gerard chimed in. “I didn’t wear it today, but I got a few compliments on it during my Advanced Drawing and Composition class.” 

“That’s neat,” I said. 

“Makeup’s just so fun to wear,” Pete said. “It makes a guy look beautiful!” 

“If we’re going by that logic, then we’re the four most beautiful guys at Kale,” Gerard said. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Laura said. 

“Shut up, Laura,” Gerard said. “Let us have our moment.” 

“Why can’t all guys wear eyeliner?” I asked. “Since eyeliner makes guys look beautiful, then shouldn’t all guys wear it?” 

“Maybe some guys just enjoy looking ugly,” Frank said. 

“Why would anyone want to be ugly?” I asked. 

“Being ugly is punk rock,” Laura said. 

“No, being unconventionally beautiful is more punk than being ugly,” Pete argued. 

“What if being beautiful and being ugly are the same thing?” I said. 

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Frank said, “No, that’s silly.” 

“Not all guys wear eyeliner because some people are a little bit too attached to traditional gender roles,” Pete said. “I know that Gerard and Laura were saying earlier that gender is over, and they’re right, but a lot of people won’t accept that.” 

“It’s unfortunate, because dismantling the gender binary would be better for everyone,” Laura said. 

“Gender’s just a pointless social construct anyways,” Gerard said. “So is the idea that guys can’t wear eyeliner.” 

“You should do an art project about that, Gerard,” Pete suggested. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Gerard said as he gave us a slightly terrifying smile. “It will be a series of paintings about the men and women who defy traditional gender roles and the demons that plague them as they struggle against the establishment. What a brilliant idea, Pete.” 

“Gerard always gets a little scary when he’s talking about art,” Frank whispered to Laura. 

“I’ll get started on it next week,” Gerard said. “If it turns out well enough, I’ll use it as my senior project.” 

“I thought that graphic novel was your senior project,” Frank said. 

“I’m still trying to decide!” Gerard said. “Frank, you have to understand that true art takes some time to develop.” 

“I understand, Gerard,” Frank said. 

“I do think that you all would make excellent subjects,” Gerard said. “Especially you, Frank. You really helped me in that one class last year.” 

Gerard winked at Frank, and he blushed and said, “It was all you, Gerard. You’re the artist, not me.” 

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Laura said. 

“I’ve got it!” Pete said. “What else are we going to do this year? We should do something to increase membership, since Gerard and Laura are leaving next year.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Frank said. 

“We should bring some local artists that wear guyliner on campus,” Laura suggested. “That would be so cool.” 

“See Laura?” Gerard said. “This is why we need you in this club. That’s a great idea.” 

“How about a contest to see who has the best guyliner?” I suggested. 

“No, you and Pete would dominate that for sure,” Gerard said. 

“We should throw an emo-themed party at the Greek Friendship Society house,” Frank said. 

“We’re already throwing one this weekend,” Gerard said. 

“Oh right,” Frank said. “I forgot.” 

“I could try to talk to some of my friends on the soccer team and try to get them to join,” Pete suggested. 

“I don’t know,” Gerard said. “A lot of the student-athletes here are kind of mean.” Pete was about to protest before Gerard added, “Present company excluded, obviously.” 

“Gerard, how much time do we have left?” Frank asked. “I kind of want to go back home and check on my dogs.” 

Gerard took a look at the clock and said, “It’s almost five.” 

“I’m going to be late for practice,” Pete said. “See you all later.” 

“I need to leave too,” Laura said. “Public Opinion and Foreign Policy starts in ten minutes.” 

“Bye everyone,” I said. 

“Don’t forget - we’re having another meeting in two weeks!” Gerard shouted as he left the Pendragon Center. “I expect all of you to be there!” 

“I’ll come!” I exclaimed as I followed him out of the building. As I walked back to Flack Hall, I thought about my newfound friends, if I could call them that. In all honesty, the members of the Guyliner Club already felt like friends to me. They were all so different, yet had so much in common. Already, I was certain that if I gave them enough time, Gerard, Frank, Laura, and Pete could become some of my closest friends.


	7. What's a Greek Friendship Society?

One week later, I found myself in the common room in Flack Hall, practicing my Advanced Piano Studies music on the grand piano sitting in the corner of the room. It wasn’t anything like my piano at home, but I could tell that it had a few secrets of its own. I wasn’t sure what the piano had seen or heard that it was trying to hide from me, but there was some kind of secret between the keys that I just had to tease out. 

Some of my fellow students walked by, either ignoring or appreciating the music that I was trying to create. After about an hour, I grew sick of the piece that my professor had assigned to me and decided to improvise a little. I played wild, unscripted notes, hoping that a few of them would come together to form a beautiful harmony. I suppose that’s how the world works, after all. We’re all isolated musical notes, looking for another note that will help us create a perfect chord. Sometimes it works, most of the time it doesn’t, but that’s all fine as long as we enjoy the hunt. 

“Ryan?” I heard someone say. 

I turned around and saw Patrick standing behind me with a smile on his face. “What is it?” I asked him. 

“You’re really a talented pianist,” Patrick said.

“Thanks, but it’s all just for fun,” I said as I continued to play. “I don’t think I’m any good. I’m probably the worst person in my Advanced Piano Studies class.” 

“You’re still pretty talented,” Patrick said. 

All of a sudden, someone interrupted us. “Hi Gerard,” I said as I slammed on the piano keys. I hadn’t expected to see Gerard in Flack Hall, especially at this time of day. Normally, the Greek Friendship Society would already be in their house, partying the night away. 

“Hey Ryan,” Gerard said. He turned to Patrick and asked, “Are you a freshman too?” 

Patrick nodded and said, “I’m Patrick Stump.” 

“Nice to meet you, Patrick,” Gerard said. “I’m Gerard Way.” 

Patrick stared at Gerard’s dyed black hair, guyliner, leather jacket, and Greek Friendship Society T-shirt. “What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“I just wanted to ask you guys a question,” Gerard said. 

“You know I’m all for answering questions,” I said. “Questions are the heart of any real argument. What did you want to ask?” 

“We’re throwing a party at the Greek Friendship Society house tonight so new members can see what our organization is all about,” Gerard said. “Would you two like to come?” 

“Sure, why not?” I said. 

“What is a Greek Friendship Society anyways?” Patrick asked.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Gerard said. “It’s Kale’s one and only gender-inclusive Greek organization. I’m surprised that you haven’t heard of us. We live right next door to you guys.” 

“I’ve definitely heard of you,” Patrick said. “I just wasn’t sure exactly what kind of fraternity you were.” 

“WE’RE NOT A FRATERNITY!” Gerard screamed. “Fraternities are just for men, but Delta Omicron Gamma is inclusive of _all_ genders!” 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said nervously. “Please calm down.” 

Gerard took a few deep breaths and said, “I just want to make it very clear that we’re not a fraternity. So do you want to go to the party or not?” 

“It will be fun!” Frank exclaimed as he entered Flack Hall. 

Patrick thought about it for a few minutes and then said, “I’ll go if Ryan’s going.”

“I’m going,” I said. College was all about making memories and trying new things, and attending a Greek Friendship Society party seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore something new. 

“Great,” Gerard said. “Let’s head over to the Greek Friendship Society house.” 

Gerard and Frank headed out the door, and Patrick and I followed them towards the little brick house next to Flack Hall. It was no coincidence that the lights were on and everybody was home that evening as the four of us walked down the path towards the house. 

“Why is it called Delta Omicron Gamma?” Patrick asked. 

“Frank named it,” Gerard said. “Why don’t you ask him?” 

“It’s called Delta Omicron Gamma because we can abbreviate it as DOG, and I love dogs!” Frank exclaimed. 

Patrick nodded and said, “Dogs are so adorable. I worked at a pet store in high school, and the dogs were so cute. I wanted to buy all of them!” 

“That sounds so amazing,” Frank said. “I have twelve dogs, and they all live in the Greek Friendship Society house. Maybe you’ll meet some of them during the party.” 

Frank opened the door, and dozens of puppies rushed up to greet us. I wasn’t sure which of them belonged to Frank and which of them belonged to the other members of the Greek Friendship Society, but nevertheless, Frank felt the need to cuddle and scratch each and every one of them. Patrick was grinning like a maniac as Frank handed one of the dogs to him, while Gerard attempted to step over the dogs and make his way inside. I glanced down at the dogs one more time. They seemed to be perfectly content to live in the Greek Friendship Society house, with Frank pampering all of them. It was a simple yet ideal way to live. 

The puppies slowly cleared away from the door, and Frank, Patrick, and I entered the house. Punk music blared in the background as the members of the Greek Friendship Society, along with a few freshmen that I knew, chatted and danced. They were all wearing black, and many of them were wearing eyeliner too. Gerard seemed to be right in the middle of the action as he greeted all of the Greek Friendship Society members and tried to convince a group of freshmen to join the group. 

“I can get you guys something to drink if you’d like,” Frank said. “I heard that Whitney bought us some beer. It’s the same stuff that they sell at the Aubergine Dream.” 

“I’m eighteen, Frank,” I said. 

“So am I,” Patrick said. 

“There’s no need to let that stop you,” Frank said. “I’m not going to pressure you though.”

All of a sudden, Gerard came up to us and said, “I should probably introduce you guys to some of the Greek Friendship Society members. Follow me.” 

Patrick and I both followed Gerard through the house as he came up to each group of party goers and introduced us to them. I could hardly keep their pronouns straight, much less their names, as Gerard ran around the room, greeting each member of the Greek Friendship Society and telling them that we were “new recruits.” 

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Patrick said once Gerard had introduced us to everyone. “The boy petting the dog on the right side of the room is Ramzi, right?” 

“That’s right,” Gerard said. 

“The dark-skinned girl next to him is probably Whitney,” Patrick said. 

“No, that’s Britney!” Gerard exclaimed. “Whitney’s on the other side of the room.” 

“The boy next to her is Morgan, right?” Patrick said. 

“No!” Gerard shouted. “Morgan is agender! Get it right!” 

I looked out on the dance floor again, and spotted a familiar face. “What’s Laura doing here?” I asked. “I didn’t think she was in the Greek Friendship Society.” 

“She’s not, but if she wants to dance and drink all night, then there’s no one that can stop her,” Gerard said. 

Patrick and I spent a few more hours wandering around the Greek Friendship Society house, but by midnight, Patrick was practically falling asleep. I wasn’t one to deprive him of his precious dreaming time, so we found Gerard again and told him that we were leaving. 

“It’s a Friday night!” Gerard exclaimed. “How are you leaving already?” 

“I think I’m going to fall asleep on the dance floor if I stay here any longer,” Patrick said. 

“Fine,” Gerard said. “Are you two going to join Greek Friendship Society?” 

I considered Gerard’s offer for a few minutes, and at first, I wasn’t sure how to make the decision. What should I consider? Was it the people in it, the activities they did, or something else that would make or break my decision to join Delta Omicron Gamma? The members of the Greek Friendship Society seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t much of a partier. I personally preferred the quiet company of a piano, which the Greek Friendship Society house sadly lacked. Additionally, I had no desire to commit to being in a Greek organization yet. I didn’t want to limit my options, especially when I hadn’t even looked at any of the Kale fraternities. 

“No thanks,” I said. 

“I don’t think I’m going to join either,” Patrick said. “You guys seem nice, but I don’t know if Greek Friendship Society is right for me yet.” 

“Oh come on,” Gerard said. “It will be fun. We’re throwing another party next Friday, and if you join this year, you can live in the Greek Friendship Society house next year. We have dogs!” 

“Can I have a little bit more time to think about it?” Patrick asked. 

“Sure,” Gerard said. “Take as much time as you need.” 

“Thanks for inviting us, Gerard,” I said. 

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll see you both soon.” 

Patrick and I both left the Greek Friendship Society house as the rest of the party guests continued to dance wildly. When we arrived back in our Flack Hall dorm room, Patrick immediately crashed onto the bed and fell asleep, while I stayed up a little bit longer to finish my philosophy homework. 

It had been a crazy night, but I thought that I was beginning to see the truth about the Greek Friendship Society. If Patrick really was considering joining and wasn’t just saying that to appease Gerard, he was much less innocent than I had previously thought. Perhaps Gerard was corrupting him, just like Socrates has corrupted the youth of Athens. On the other hand, maybe I was the one responsible, since I had gone with him to the party. 

Either way, perhaps corruption isn’t a bad thing. Traditional morality has never been my cup of tea anyways.


	8. Why do rivalries exist?

“Are you going to the football game tonight?” Joe asked me as we entered the dining hall, after we’d just finished discussing the implications of a new discovery in quantum mechanics on the meaning of life. 

I didn’t know how to answer his question. Until that point, I was only vaguely aware that Kale University had a football team at all. “What football game?” I said. 

Joe rolled his eyes. “We’re playing Yale tonight. Everyone’s going to be there. Even Andy’s going, and he’s not interested in anything other than Crossfit.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I didn’t think that Yale was in our conference.” 

“They’re not, but we play them every year anyways,” Joe said. “It’s a tradition.” 

“I see,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go.” 

“You can think about it,” Joe said. “I’ll see you at the game if you go. I’m going to be in the student section. I’m even wearing the Kale T-shirt that I bought when I got accepted just for the game!” 

I looked over at Joe’s T-shirt, and saw that he was wearing the exact same Kale T-shirt that I owned. “I have that shirt too,” I said. 

“That’s neat,” Joe said. “I love the school slogan, by the way. ‘I don’t just want to be a footnote in someone else’s happiness.’ It’s so inspirational.” 

“I think so too,” I said. 

Joe and I both finished up our lunches and headed back to Flack Hall. When I arrived back in my dorm, I thought about the football game. 

Football is one thing that I’ve never quite understood. Why would anyone want to participate in a sport where concussions and head injuries are all but guaranteed? Such violence doesn’t make sense, and I’ve never been one to want to support it. Football simply doesn’t have a purpose. It doesn’t even entertain me, although I know that some people would disagree. I could argue that it does make others happy, and that is the purpose of football. I could also argue that football is how Kale, along with practically every other university in America, is making its money, so it has the purpose of paying for my tuition, but that’s a little too cynical even for my taste. 

I also didn’t understand why everyone at Kale hated Yale University so much. We were close to Yale, and we were constantly confused with them, but I had never met a Yale student. I couldn’t judge them before I met them. 

Despite my worries, I decided to go to the football game. I had my moral objections to football, but supporting my school and spending some time with my friends seemed more important. I dressed myself in red and black, complete with the same Kale University T-shirt as Joe, and walked to Desfilenegro Field, the only Kale building that was farther from the center of campus than Flack Hall. It took me forever to get there, and when I did arrive, it turned out that I had to buy tickets. 

“That will be thirty dollars,” the woman at the ticket counter said. 

I fumbled through my wallet, but I already knew that there was no way that I had enough. I’d spent all of the money that I had saved up before college on my first room and board payment, and now, I couldn’t even go to a Kale football game. I stepped out of the way as I counted up my money, uncertain of how I would get into the student section if I couldn’t pay for tickets. Why are college football games so expensive? I’m a Kale student - shouldn’t it be free for me to support my school? What was the point of a monetary system anyways? Was there a better way to ensure that everyone could get what they needed? 

I had six dollars and ninety three cents in my wallet, which wasn’t even close to the amount that I needed to pay. I could call my mom and ask her for a little bit more money, but that wouldn’t arrive for a while, and it seemed unethical to ask her for more money when she was working so hard just to support herself. I didn’t want to go back to being the burden that I had been for her over the past eighteen years. 

A few minutes later, Patrick walked up to the ticket counter. “Hi Ryan,” he said. “What’s up?” 

“I’m trying to get into the game, but I don’t have enough money,” I said. 

“Here you go,” Patrick said as he handed me thirty dollars. “I’ll pay for you.” 

“You don’t need to do that,” I said as I tried to give the money back to him. 

“No, take it,” Patrick said. “You need it more than I do.” 

I reluctantly took Patrick’s money and paid for my ticket, shoving the six dollars and ninety three cents back into my wallet. I then followed Patrick into the stadium and found a seat on the edge of the student section. 

“Hi Ryan!” I heard Joe shout from a few rows above me. I looked up and spotted him, Andy, and a few other kids from Flack Hall sitting together. 

“Hey everyone,” I said. 

“Ryan?” I heard another voice say. “Is that you?” I looked down and saw Gerard and Frank cuddling together directly below me. Joe was right. Practically everyone at Kale had come to the game, making me just another member of their herd. I didn’t like the idea of blindly following the mainstream, but in this case, it wasn’t so bad. There was something nice about seeing the entire student body coming together to support a cause, even if that cause was something as inconsequential as a football game. 

A boy around my age sitting just outside of the student section caught my eye. He was wearing a Yale polo, and something looked ever so slightly familiar about him, although I was certain that I had never seen him before in my life. 

“Hey there,” I said as I got up from my seat and moved to sit next to him. “What’s your name?” 

The boy scooted a little bit further away from me as he clutched an economics textbook, but he did respond. “I’m Mikey,” he said. 

“I’m Ryan,” I said. “You’re from Yale, right?” 

Mikey rolled his eyes and said, “Obviously. The polo gives it away. Are all Kale students this dense?” 

“I’m sorry, but just because you go to Yale doesn’t mean you’re any better than me,” I said. “All that means is that you’re better at answering multiple choice questions on an exam than I am, you’re obscenely rich, or both. It does not make you a superior person.” 

“Look, I realize you probably still have a lingering inferiority complex regarding your test scores from high school, but we’re starting this off on the wrong foot,” Mikey said. “I don’t have anything against Kale students as a whole. My brother goes here, after all.” 

“Who’s your brother?” I asked. 

“You probably don’t know him,” Mikey said as he flipped through his economics textbook. “He’s one of those artsy types. Our parents think that he’ll never succeed in life, since we could never have someone without an Ivy League education inherit the family business, but he’s quite talented in my opinion. I’ve seen his drawings, and they’re excellent.” Mikey paused to look through the student section and then said, “Wait! I think that’s him!” He pointed towards the row below mine and shouted, “Gerard!” 

“Mikey!” Gerard exclaimed as he rushed towards us and enveloped his younger brother in a hug. “How’s life at Yale?” 

“Everything’s going great,” Mikey said. He looked back into the Kale student section and said, “Is that your boyfriend over there?” 

“You remember Frank, right?” Gerard said. “He came over to our house for Thanksgiving last year.” 

As if on cue, Frank walked over and joined the conversation. “I do remember that,” Frank said. “Your house is really more like a mansion. It’s ginormous.” 

“That’s not a word,” Mikey said. 

“Says the guy who thinks that the plural of moose is moosi,” Frank said. 

For a few seconds, Mikey looked like he was about to whack Frank over the head with his textbook, but clearly he decided against it. Instead, he sat back down and mumbled something about Yale crushing us during the football game. 

“I’ll talk to you later, Mikey,” Gerard said. “You should come and visit me more often.” 

“I’ll take the bus over to Old Haven next weekend,” Mikey said. “You should visit Yale though. It’s such a beautiful campus, and the atmosphere is so much better than it is at Kale.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to see it for myself,” Gerard said as he sat back down in the student section. He gave Mikey one last wave before the announcer welcomed us to Desfilenegro Field for a cross-conference game between Yale University and Kale University. The Kale University Marching Band then took the field, and I was impressed with just how much better they were than my high school marching band. After playing the Kale fight song, which I only sort of knew the words to, the band erupted into the Star-Spangled Banner. In the middle of the song, a lone trombonist started playing “American Idiot” by Green Day, and although the rest of the band didn’t seem too pleased with the trombonist, the student section enjoyed it. Gerard even started singing along to the Green Day song instead of the real national anthem. 

The whole incident made me wonder about the real meaning of patriotism. Was a national anthem necessary to truly support one’s country? Weren’t there plenty of people who didn’t care too much about their country and stood up to sing the national anthem anyways? Does patriotism have any value anyways? The Nazis cared about Germany, yet they were genocidal maniacs. What if patriotism just turned people into Nazis? 

In any case, I found the incident with the trombonist to be amusing but unimportant, and everyone forgot about the whole thing once the football game started. 

The game itself wasn’t all that exciting. Nobody scored at all in the first quarter, and the game seemed to drag on forever. Supposedly, the first quarter was only fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer than that. Between the first and second quarters, Joe left to buy some popcorn to share amongst our corner of the student section, and once I had popcorn, the game sped up a little. By halftime, Yale had fourteen points, but Kale didn’t have any. 

I found myself falling apart to halftime as the marching band returned to the field, giving us students a little bit of distraction from Kale’s lack of football skills. However, the game continued, and Yale thoroughly crushed us during the second half of the game. No matter how much the student section screamed and cheered for our beloved college football team, Kale was losing badly. 

In the end, Kale University lost, twenty one to seven. As soon as the game was over, my friends and I headed out of the stands and returned to Flack Hall, a little bit disappointed in Kale’s performance during the game. 

On my way out, I ran into Mikey again. “I told you that Yale would win,” he said as he adjusted his absurdly preppy Yale polo. 

“You were right,” I admitted. I shuffled out of Desfilenegro Field, hoping to avoid any further interaction with Mikey Way, and thankfully, he headed towards the bus stop while I walked back to Flack Hall. 

After that game, I understood why Kale and Yale had such an intense rivalry. They were two schools with similar names, similar locations, and vastly different ideologies. Yale was for the elite: the ones who could pay for a private school education and tutors who could help them get astronomically high standardized test scores. It was no wonder that Yale students were the snobbiest people that you could ever hope to meet. 

I wasn’t sure what Kale stood for, other than not just being a footnote in someone else’s happiness, but it sure wasn’t that. 

I entered Flack Hall and climbed upstairs into my dorm room, and as I did, I thought about the Kale student body. Most of us weren’t rich or smart, although a few of us certainly were, but that didn’t make Yale better than Kale. That was why we were in this insane rivalry. 

From that moment on, I despised Yale University with all of my heart. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had so much hate in my heart, but at the time, it seemed like the right choice to make.


	9. How do I make money ethically?

By October, I was starting to regret my decision to pay for room and board on my own. Before I left home, my mom had offered to pay for at least part of the cost, but I didn’t want to rely on her. Mom had already supported me for too long - she didn’t need to keep paying for food and a roof over my head when I was living over two thousand miles away from her. It was both illogical and unethical. Then, the money that I had made by mowing lawns in middle and high school ran out. As I focused on saving every cent for my room and board, I realized that I couldn’t attend football games, buy pizza, or do anything that a normal college student should be able to do. I had two choices: asking my mom for more money or getting a job. 

I spent some time considering my dilemma, but in the end, the choice was easy. I couldn’t go back and ask Mom to pay for my room and board after I had already told her that I would pay for it myself. I wasn’t the type to go back on my promises. I had to find some sort of way to earn enough money to pay for room and board myself. 

However, I had no idea where to find a job, and I was still searching when the next Guyliner Club meeting arrived. When I went to the Pendragon Center, I found the other members waiting for me on the second floor. Everyone was there - Gerard, Frank, Laura, and Pete - and I couldn’t have been happier to see them again.

“Hey Ryan,” Gerard said, smiling. “It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” I said as I sat down between Gerard and Pete. I hadn’t put as much effort into my eyeliner that time around, but I still thought that it looked pretty good, all things considered. 

“How have you all been?” Gerard asked. 

“Comparative Politics is killing me,” Pete complained. 

“Really?” Laura said. “I liked that class.” 

“You must have had a different professor,” Pete said. 

“One of my dogs got sick,” Frank said. 

“That’s too bad,” Pete said. 

“What about you, Ryan?” Gerard asked. “What’s new with you?” 

“My next room and board payment is coming up,” I said. “I have no idea how I’m going to pay for it.” 

All of the other Guyliner Club members groaned. “I totally get that, Ryan,” Frank said. “Room and board is ridiculously expensive here. That’s why I moved into the Greek Friendship Society house. It’s way cheaper.” 

“No, you moved into the Greek Friendship Society house because we let you have your dogs,” Gerard said. 

“That’s the other reason,” Frank said. 

“I’m going to be so in debt when I graduate,” Pete said. “It’s not my fault that Kale gave me a lousy financial aid package!” 

“Welcome to the life of a college student, Ryan,” Laura said. “We’re all broke.” 

“I don’t know what you guys are complaining about,” Gerard said as he sipped his coffee. “Kale isn’t that expensive.” 

“Gerard, you went to a New England private school and your family owns a multinational corporation,” Frank said. “You have no right to say that Kale isn’t that expensive.”

“Actually, I’m from New Jersey,” Gerard said. “That’s not in New England.” 

“My point still stands,” Frank said. 

Gerard sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I do need to work on checking my privilege.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” 

I glanced over at Pete, who had stopped listening to the conversation. Instead, he was playing with a purple fidget spinner, apparently not realizing that those had gone out of style several months ago. Once Laura realized that Pete wasn’t paying any attention, she snatched the toy away from him. “Hey! Give that back!” Pete exclaimed as Laura tossed it across the room, narrowly missing Gerard’s head. 

“You can have it back after the meeting’s over,” Laura said. 

“But Laura!” he whined, but she didn’t have any sympathy for him. 

“I have some news for you all,” Gerard said. 

“What is it?” I asked, curious as to what Gerard had to say. 

“I’m an actor now!” Gerard exclaimed. “Well, I mean, I’m really just an extra in Ray Toro’s senior project, and he’s paying me in Starbucks gift cards, but that counts, doesn’t it?” 

“That’s kind of cool,” Frank said. 

“I’m glad you think so, Frank,” Gerard said. 

“Have you decided on your senior project yet?” Frank asked. 

“I’m still trying to decide between the graphic novel and the series of paintings,” Gerard said. “I might try both and decide later.” 

“Laura?” Frank said. “What are you doing for your senior project?” 

“I don’t have to do one,” Laura replied. “It’s only the art kids who need it.” 

Frank considered this for a few minutes before Gerard changed the subject. “Are all of you going to the Aubergine Dream tonight?” he asked. 

“I’m going for sure,” Frank said. 

“I’m there every night!” Pete exclaimed. 

“Me too,” Laura said. 

“What’s the Aubergine Dream?” I asked. 

“How have you never heard of the Aubergine Dream?” Frank said.

“It’s only the second coolest bar in all of Old Haven,” Gerard said. 

“Aren’t there only two bars in Old Haven?” Laura said.

“I’m still confused,” I said. 

“Let’s put it this way,” Frank said. “The Aubergine Dream is a bar just outside of campus. It’s not as trendy as the Poisoned Youth, but all of us go there anyways because it’s an easy escape from campus life and they have a really talented singer who performs every night.” 

“Also, their daiquiris are delicious,” Pete added. 

“So the Aubergine Dream is a bar, and you’re asking me if I want to go there tonight?” I said. 

“Precisely,” Frank said. 

“I’m only eighteen, Frank,” I reminded him. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Frank said. “You can go without drinking anything. The Aubergine Dream is just a nice place for socializing.” 

“I agree,” Laura said. “You don’t need to be twenty one to have fun at the Aubergine.” 

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll tag along.” 

“Wait a second,” Gerard said. “I have a brilliant idea.” 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Please tell me that you’re not going to start a rock band, release four excellent albums, and then break it up twelve years later, breaking the hearts of millions of crying emos,” Frank said. 

“No, that’s not even close to my idea,” Gerard said. “How did you even come up with that?” 

“I don’t know,” Frank admitted. 

“Anyways Ryan, you play the piano, don’t you?” Gerard said. 

“Yes, I do,” I said. I hadn’t practiced in a few days, and I certainly missed hearing the soft notes and tantalizing little memories hidden in the piano, but without a doubt, I did play. 

“I thought I remembered you playing in Flack Hall,” Gerard said. “There’s a singer at the Aubergine Dream, and he’s looking for a piano accompanist. Would you be interested? I’m sure the Aubergine would pay you good money to do it.” 

It took me a few minutes to process Gerard’s offer, but I desperately needed the money. I couldn’t afford to turn down anything that sounded remotely like a job offer. “I’m interested,” I told him. 

“Awesome,” Gerard said. “I’ll introduce you to Brendon tonight, and then you two can take it from there.” 

“Gerard, can we wrap this up?” Laura said. “I’m going to be late to Foreign Policy again.” 

Gerard nodded. “I’ll see you all in two weeks,” he said. 

“Can I have my fidget spinner back please?” Pete asked. 

Gerard sighed. “Yes Pete, you can have your fidget spinner back.” Pete immediately scrambled to the other side of the room to find his fidget spinner, while I calmly left the Pendragon Center and walked back to Flack Hall. 

On my way back to the Pendragon Center, I couldn’t help but reconsider the ethics of my job offer. I wasn’t sure that it would go anywhere, especially since I hadn’t met anyone at the Aubergine yet, and they were the ones who would potentially pay me for my piano playing, but the chance to make some money excited me. 

However, it couldn’t be very ethical for a place like the Aubergine Dream to employ a boy who wasn’t even old enough to drink yet. Then again, at that point in my life, I didn’t care. With my room and board payments approaching, I valued money more than any vaguely defined moral principle. Money was something that was both tangible and powerful, and as much as I wanted to make money ethically, if I was given the choice between money and ethics, I would have chosen the money. 

Does that make me a selfish person? Perhaps, but being at the Aubergine didn’t harm anyone. If it didn’t harm anyone, then it couldn’t be all that bad. If anything, a new job could only help everyone. The patrons at the Aubergine would be entertained by my piano playing, and I would earn some extra cash to pay off my bills. I wouldn’t need to borrow money from Patrick all the time. 

If I had been asked to murder someone for money, for example, I might have refused the offer, but playing the piano seemed like an easy, painless job. Hanging out a bar all the time as an eighteen year old was a little questionable, but it wasn’t that bad in comparison. It wasn’t unethical in my opinion, at least not enough for me to refuse the offer. 

When I returned to Flack Hall, I crashed onto the bed and stared at the white stucco ceiling. Both Great People of Mathematics and the Guyliner Club meeting had taken all of the energy out of me, and I desperately needed a quick nap. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

“RYAN! WAKE UP!” I heard Gerard scream as he knocked on my door. I snapped my eyes open, opened the door, and saw him standing directly in front of me, dressed entirely in black. “Seriously Ryan?” he said. “Over the last three hours, I dyed my hair, worked on my graphic novel, listened to the Misfits, and helped Frank walk his dogs, and all you did was sleep?” 

“I was tired,” I grumbled as I got out of bed. 

“Come on,” Gerard said. “We’re going to the Aubergine.” I followed Gerard out of my residence hall, and we found Pete, Frank, and Laura standing outside. All of us headed for the Aubergine Dream, with my friends excitedly chatting amongst themselves about what the night had in store for us.

“You’ll thank us for this later,” Frank said, and believe it or not, he was right.


	10. Is beauty objective or subjective?

“An artist, a punk, an emo, a dog lover, and a philosopher walk into a bar,” I said as the five of us approached the Aubergine Dream. It was a rather nondescript building, with the exception of the neon purple sign out front. “That sounds like the premise of a bad joke, but what’s the punchline?” 

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Pete said. He winked and opened the door, and Laura, Pete, Gerard, Frank, and I all walked inside. 

At first glance, the Aubergine looked perfectly normal. Most of the people inside were simply hanging around and chatting. I recognized a few of the patrons from Kale, but many of the others were unfamiliar. I presumed that they were simply people from the town of Old Haven, though the city was so overrun with college students that it was hard to believe that anyone else lived there. 

Pete and Frank immediately went up to the bar to grab some drinks, while Laura ran off to meet a small, mousy-looking girl who was waiting for her in the back of the room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so I found a chair and sat down to take part in one of my favorite pastimes: people-watching. 

It took me a few minutes to realize exactly what was going on in the Aubergine. At first, it just looked like people were drifting back and forth, going between the bar and whatever group of friends they had come with. Nearly everyone else seemed to know each other, and even Pete ended up talking to a few people that I didn’t recognize at all. I felt more like an outcast than usual, but that feeling wouldn’t last too long. 

I couldn’t help but notice how Frank and Gerard seemed even more affectionate than usual here at the Aubergine. As Gerard started conversing with a woman in her mid-twenties, Frank’s fingers slipped between Gerard’s as if there was nobody else around. I looked around again, and spotted two girls making out at the back of the room. 

When Gerard came back over to me, with both Frank and the unfamiliar woman in tow, I asked, “Gerard, did you take me to a gay bar?” 

“Maybe,” Gerard said. “Anyways, Ryan, this is Heidi St. Clair. She owns the Aubergine. Heidi, this is Ryan Ross. He’s a very talented piano player.” 

“I’m not all that talented,” I insisted. “I’m barely passing Advanced Piano Studies right now.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Gerard told Heidi. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” Heidi said as she shook my hand. She was a relatively short woman, with curly black hair, brown skin, and deep brown eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said. 

“Why don’t I introduce you to Brendon and Spencer?” Heidi said. “They’re setting up the drum set right now, and I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” 

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I haven’t really committed to playing here yet.” As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted it. I needed this job more than anything. Maybe playing the piano for a living wasn’t the best job in the world, but it wasn’t the worst either, and I couldn’t afford to be picky. 

“Let’s just try it for tonight and see how it goes,” Heidi said. She led me across the room to a relatively clear spot where two men were attempting to assemble a drum set. 

Well, more accurately, one man was assembling a drum set while the other was straightening his tie and sipping on a peach and lime daiquiri. 

Both of them appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties, and they both seemed slightly familiar. I assumed that they were Kale students that I had seen walking to class, but I had never bothered to ask their names. “Brendon?” the one assembling the drum set said. He had a round face, pale skin, and blue eyes. “Can you please help me here?” 

“Spencer, I’m warming up my voice,” Brendon said as he took yet another sip of his drink. He was strikingly handsome in his sparkly gold suit, and I couldn’t help but wonder if everyone found Brendon as attractive as I did. 

“You’ve been ‘warming up your voice’ for the last two hours!” Spencer exclaimed. 

Brendon didn’t bother to respond to his companion. Instead, he turned to Heidi. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?” 

“I just wanted to introduce you to Ryan Ross,” Heidi said. 

“Does he know how to play the piano?” Brendon asked. “You know I’ve been looking for a piano player for forever.” 

“I know how to play,” I said. 

“Really?” Brendon said. I nodded, and Brendon started jumping around frantically. “Heidi!” he screamed. “You’re the best! You found someone who can play the piano for me! Ryan Ross, you are my new favorite person!” 

“Uh...thank you?” I said, unsure of how to respond. I had just met Brendon after all, and even though I did think he was quite beautiful, I couldn’t exactly say that he was my favorite person yet. 

“So Ryan, we’re almost done setting up the drum set…” Brendon said. 

“We?” Spencer interrupted. “I’m the one who’s always doing all the work around here.” 

Brendon shrugged and said, “Once Spencer’s done setting up the drum set, you can warm up a little bit. The piano’s over in the corner, and I can get you the music in a few minutes. The show always starts at exactly nine in the afternoon.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “It’s night now, not afternoon, but who decides when afternoon becomes night anyways? Couldn’t I say that it’s the afternoon if I wanted to?” 

“You’re overthinking this,” Brendon said. 

“It’s what I do,” I said. 

“Wait a second,” Spencer said as he looked at me. “I think I recognize you. Do you go to Kale?” 

I nodded. “Do you go there too?” I asked. 

“Yes,” Spencer said. “This is my third year at Kale. It’s a great school, isn’t it?” 

“Definitely,” I said. 

“I think I need another daiquiri,” Brendon commented as he stared into his empty glass. I watched him walk up to the bar as I wandered over to the grand piano waiting for me in the corner of the room. It was a beautiful instrument with its polished surface, and when I quietly pressed one of the keys, it produced a clear, gorgeous sound that echoed all throughout the bar. 

I couldn’t wait to find out what this piano knew. 

I played through a few chords and scales before Brendon stopped by and placed a stack of sheet music in front of me. “Here you go, Ryan,” he said. “You sound amazing, by the way.” 

“I’ve barely played anything,” I said. 

“I just have a feeling that this is all going to be marvelous,” Brendon said. “Do you ever get that feeling, Ryan?” 

“Sometimes, yes,” I said. “Some things just can’t be explained, no matter how hard you try.” If I had to be honest, at that moment, I was having the same feeling. I felt like something in my life had gone right for once, even if the show itself hadn’t started yet. Brendon and Spencer both seemed like nice guys, and I could imagine sitting here on the piano bench and playing with them again. 

“You’re right about that,” Brendon said. He leaned across the piano to look me in the eyes and asked, “Do you take requests?” 

“It depends on what the request is,” I said. 

“How about Bohemian Rhapsody?” 

“I can play parts of that.”

“Can you please play it for me?”

“I don’t know about that…” I said. It seemed worthless to start something that I knew I couldn’t finish, even if it was only a piano piece. 

“Please?” Brendon asked, pouting, and I gave in and played what I knew of Bohemian Rhapsody. Brendon immediately started smiling again as I stumbled through the piece. Despite my failures, Brendon hummed through the whole song, clearly enjoying himself. 

“I don’t know any more,” I told him as I stopped short right before the operatic section. 

“What you had was great,” Brendon said. He looked over at the clock and shouted, “It’s nine in the afternoon! Ryan, Spencer, we need to get started!” 

I flipped through my music until I found the first song. Thankfully, most of the music was fairly simple, though that didn’t make it any less beautiful. Sometimes, the simplest of things could be the most beautiful. 

That begged another question, which I pondered while I played the first few chords. What was beautiful anyways? I could name plenty of beautiful things: new pianos, old books, the Kale University campus in the springtime, the color black, and Brendon Urie, for example. However, I couldn’t quite say what made those things beautiful, or if everyone saw things the same way that I did. 

Plenty of people have told me that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but I’m not sure if I believe it. There must be some things that are universally beautiful, and I discovered one of those things that night at the Aubergine Dream at nine in the afternoon. 

When Brendon opened his mouth, I realized that he could sing like an angel. 

Brendon’s voice soared through the Aubergine, reaching up into the highest notes and diving down into the lowest depths of his range. He sounded like a cross between Frank Sinatra and a Broadway star, and I mean that in the best way possible. My heart fluttered as I tried to keep time and avoid overshadowing Brendon’s beautiful melodies. 

Looking out into the crowd, I saw that nearly everyone else was just as enthralled with Brendon as I was. I spotted Pete and Laura in the front and Frank and Gerard in the back, but all of their eyes were on Brendon. Once the song was over, all of them burst into applause. 

Brendon grinned and said, “Hello! I think you all know me by now, but I’m Brendon Urie, and I’m here with my best friend Spencer Smith to provide some entertainment for you guys tonight. I think some of you might have noticed that we have a new face here tonight, and he’s rocking it over there on the piano. Give it up for Ryan Ross!” 

Everyone burst into applause again, and once all of the noise died down, Brendon launched into his next tune. He sounded just as wonderful on the second song as he did on the first, and for the next hour, I had the pleasure of letting Brendon’s gorgeous voice fill my ears. 

Unfortunately, it was all over far too quickly. The joy that I had felt playing with Brendon and Spencer disappeared after the last chord, although Brendon did come up to me after I finished helping Spencer put the drum set away. “That was just awesome,” Brendon said. “Are you coming tomorrow night?” 

I considered the question for a moment. I had enjoyed my time onstage, and I did want to spend a little bit more time with Brendon. I needed the money too, but that wasn’t what I was worried about when I said, “Of course.” 

“Excellent,” Brendon said, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ryan.” 

“See you soon, Brendon,” I said. I hated to leave him, but it was late, and I had classes the next day. I didn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of my Freshman Writing Seminar. 

On my way out, I found Pete waiting for me. “Frank, Gerard, and Laura already left,” he explained as we walked back towards campus. “That was a great show, by the way.” 

“Thanks,” I said. 

“So what do you think of the Aubergine Dream?” Pete asked. “Are you coming back tomorrow night?” 

“I’m coming back for sure,” I said. “There’s just so much beauty in the Aubergine.” 

“I agree,” Pete said as he looked back at the neon purple sign. “It’s a great place. I’m honestly not sure why so many people like the Poisoned Youth.” 

Honestly, I couldn’t say either. I had never been to the Poisoned Youth, but at that moment, I couldn’t possibly imagine a place that was better than the Aubergine Dream. 

It was nearly midnight by the time I returned to Flack Hall. I tiptoed through the hallways until I carefully opened the door to Room 27.As expected, Patrick was curled up in bed, fast asleep. I got ready for bed as quietly as I could, and thankfully, Patrick slept through all of it. My heart was still pounding in my chest, and I still couldn’t believe everything that had happened that night. 

Most of all, I knew that I could never forget the objectively beautiful Brendon Urie.


	11. What is friendship?

Needless to say, I returned to the Aubergine the next night and every night after that. Every time I came back there, I found something new to love about Brendon, from his energetic nature to his nearly endless array of sparkly suits. Every night, I came home late at night, as I spent more and more time chatting with Brendon after the show. I hoped that Patrick wouldn’t notice, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t. I wasn’t getting much sleep, especially with Patrick waking me up at five o’clock in the morning and the Greek Friendship Society partying through the night, but it was worth it just to see Brendon. 

A few weeks after I started at the Aubergine, Patrick entered our shared dorm room just as I was opening my paycheck. I stuffed the envelope under my bed as he opened the door, and he didn’t seem to notice anything. “Hey Ryan,” Patrick said as he adjusted his glasses. 

“Hi Patrick,” I said. “What’s going on?” 

“I was just wondering if you had heard about the party here at Flack Hall,” Patrick said. 

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, there’s going to be a party in the Flack Hall basement tonight,” Patrick said. “Hayley’s inviting everyone who lives in this residence hall so that we can all get to know each other. Personally, I think it’s a great idea. I’m not much of a partier, but I’m all for getting to know my fellow freshmen.” 

“Who’s Hayley?” I asked. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember her face. 

Patrick sighed. “This is exactly why we’re throwing the party,” he said. “It’s October already, and we barely know each other.” 

“I’m not entirely certain that any human can truly know anyone else in the deepest sense,” I said. “It’s just not possible to know someone else’s inner thoughts and emotions…” 

“Ryan, you know what I meant,” Patrick said. “Anyways, are you coming?” 

“I’ll come, but I might have to leave early,” I said. “My Great People of Mathematics professor assigned a lot of homework.” 

It was partially true. My professor had assigned quite a bit of homework over the weekend. However, I had finished all of the reading the day before. It was a small lie - in fact, it was more of a half truth than a real lie. Was it wrong of me to lie? Telling the truth didn’t benefit anyone in this case. Patrick would freak out if he knew that I wanted nothing more than to go to the Aubergine that night, and so would most of the rest of Flack Hall. It was easier and better for everyone to say that I had homework, but I still wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. 

“That’s fine,” Patrick said. “I can even meet you in the Beauregard Library if you’d like. I have a psych paper due on Monday.” 

“That’s okay,” I said. “I think I’ll focus better if I study by myself.” 

Patrick shrugged and said, “Let’s just go downstairs.” I followed him down the stairs until we reached the basement, where all of the freshmen living in Flack Hall were gathered. They were all chatting and enjoying themselves, but I still thought that I would have been happier at the Aubergine. 

Patrick wandered through the room, and I followed him until we reached a redheaded girl and a few of her friends. “Hi Hayley,” he said quietly. 

“Hey Patrick!” Hayley said, grinning. “I’m so glad you showed up.” 

“Ryan, this is Hayley,” Patrick said. “She’s in my freshman writing seminar. Hayley, this is my roommate Ryan.” 

“Wait a second,” Hayley said. “I think I recognize you. Were you on my tour when I visited here in high school?” 

I took another look at her, and indeed, she did look familiar. “I think so,” I said. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” 

“No kidding,” Hayley said. “I think I saw our tour guide the other day too. What was his name again? Jared or something like that?” 

“Gerard,” I said. “He’s in the Guyliner Club with me.” 

“I didn’t even know we had a Guyliner Club,” Hayley said. 

“Most people don’t know that Kale has a Guyliner Club,” I said. 

“I think it’s kind of cool,” Hayley said. “Can girls join?” 

I nodded. “We already have a girl in the club,” I said. “Then again, I’m pretty sure that Laura doesn’t want to be in it.” 

“Why wouldn’t you want to be in a Guyliner Club?” Hayley asked. “It sounds like the coolest club ever. I would know - I’ve already joined seventeen clubs here!” 

“That’s insane,” Patrick said. “I’m in the Cookie Baking Club and the Environmentalist Society, but that’s about it.” 

In all of the excitement surrounding my new job, I had forgotten to attend the first Cookie Baking Club meeting. It was probably a little late to join now, although I did feel a slight tinge of regret that I had allowed my commitments at the Aubergine to interfere with the Cookie Baking Club. Then again, it was impossible to do everything available at Kale, as much as I wanted to.

“Wait, what’s this about the Environmentalist Society?” Andy asked as he walked towards us. 

“We’re just talking about the clubs available at Kale,” Hayley explained. 

“You should all join Vegans United,” Andy said. “It’s the best club here.” 

“Sorry Andy, but I like my ice cream too much for that,” Hayley said. 

Andy sighed. “Why does everyone say that when I mention veganism?” he asked. He had a point. Most people could never give up their favorite foods, no matter what the cause was. I, for one, could never give up oatmeal raisin cookies. That being said, I did think that veganism was a good cause. It was healthier, better for the environment, and it eliminated suffering for animals. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

“I really don’t know,” a small Asian girl said in heavily accented English. “By the way, I’m Lin Song. Hayley is my roommate.” 

“She’s an international student from China!” Hayley exclaimed. “Isn’t that cool?” 

“I have to say, I like America so far,” Lin said. “It’s very different.” 

“So why did all of you apply to Kale, just out of curiosity?” Hayley asked. “I was on the fence about applying before I visited, but Gerard gave an amazing tour.” 

“I thought he gave a good tour too, but I came because it’s the third best philosophy program in the nation, and I couldn’t get into Harvard or Princeton,” I said. 

“I sat in on an Animal Science class when I visited, and that’s when I knew that I wanted to come here,” Patrick said. 

“A girl from my high school went here and told me about all of the activism going on,” Andy said. 

“I applied here accidentally,” Lin said. 

“How does that work?” I asked. 

“I thought I was applying to Yale University, not Kale University,” Lin said. “I did all of my applications, and I didn’t realize that I applied to the wrong school until my parents saw my acceptance letter and told me that I had gotten into Kale, not Yale.” 

“That’s an honest mistake,” Hayley said. “Yale and Kale have such similar names.” 

“It all worked out in the end though,” Lin said. “I researched Kale University, and it turned out that it was the right school for me. I don’t think I would have gotten into Yale anyways.” 

“All of the Ivy Leagues are impossible to get into,” Hayley said. “I applied to the University of Pennsylvania and got rejected, but I was kind of expecting it.” 

“I decided that I didn’t want to go to any of the really selective schools pretty early on in the college searching process,” Patrick said. 

“I did too, and I’m glad I didn’t apply anywhere too selective,” I said. “Have you guys met any of the Yale kids yet?” All of my companions shook their heads. “They’re horrible. I talked to Mikey Way at the football game, and he’s such a snob.” 

“I’d believe it,” Andy said. 

“If that’s true, then I’m very glad I didn’t go,” Lin said. “I love being at Kale.” 

“Me too,” I said, and I meant it. Despite all of the homework that I got and all of the strange things that had happened to me since my arrival, Kale was far better than my high school. 

I heard a rumbling noise travel through the basement. “Do you hear that?” Hayley asked. 

“I don’t know what it is, but it sure as hell ain’t normal,” another girl said. 

“I think it’s just the Greek Friendship Society again,” Joe said as he came towards our group. 

“They’ve been driving me crazy ever since I got here,” Andy said. 

“They just won’t shut up!” Hayley complained. “I’ve barely gotten any sleep so far this year.” 

“I’ve started sleeping in Willoughby library,” Lin said. “It’s quieter there, and the chairs are kind of comfortable.” 

“Beauregard is a better study space, but Willoughby does have more comfortable chairs,” Patrick commented. “Maybe I should try that, Lin.” 

“No, we should try talking to the Greek Friendship Society members,” Andy said. “This affects all of us.” 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Hayley said. “They won’t listen to a bunch of freshmen who have no intention of joining their little society.” 

“We won’t know unless we ask,” Andy said. 

“Let’s do it,” Joe said. “Let’s go talk to Delta Omicron Gamma. Who’s with me?” 

Patrick, unsurprisingly, chickened out, but Andy, Hayley, and I all agreed to go to the Greek Friendship Society house to talk to them. We left Flack Hall and walked over to their house, and when we got there, Hayley knocked on their door. 

“Hey,” Gerard said. “You look kind of familiar. Weren’t you on one of my tours?” 

“Yeah, two years ago,” she said. “My name’s Hayley.” 

“Nice to meet you again,” Gerard said. “Do you want to join the Greek Friendship Society?” 

“No thanks,” Hayley said. “Actually, I live in Flack Hall, and you guys have been making a lot of noise lately, and we were wondering if you might be able to be a little quieter at night? It’s hard for us to sleep.” 

“Sorry,” Gerard said. “There ain’t no way I’m sorry for what I did.” 

Hayley tried to argue, but Frank called Gerard’s name, and he shut the door. “That was pretty mean of him,” Hayley said to the rest of us. 

“Gerard’s usually pretty nice,” I insisted. “Maybe we could try again another time.” 

“It’s not worth it,” Joe said, and we all walked back to Flack Hall together. 

Were these people my friends? I wasn’t quite sure. I knew some of them well, but there were others that felt more like acquaintances than friends. What was the difference between an acquaintance and a friend anyways? Was there a difference at all? 

My mind floated back to Brendon. Could I consider him to be a friend? I hadn’t known him for very long - in fact, I had known Patrick or Joe for quite a bit longer than I had known Brendon. However, I felt like I was closer to Brendon, and I wasn’t sure why. I certainly liked Patrick, but my affection for him was quite different from my affection for Brendon, even if I couldn’t quite explain how.

Socrates once said that the job of a philosopher was to provide coherent logical definitions of things. If that was the case, then I was failing at my job. I couldn’t possibly provide a coherent logical definition of how I felt about Brendon. 

I looked at the clock and realized that it was nine o’clock. Already, I was late for my performance at the Aubergine. “I have to go,” I told Patrick as I headed out the door.

“Alright, Ryan,” he said. “See you later.” I sprinted away from the Kale campus until I reached the heart of Old Haven, where there was a drab building with a bright neon purple sign that read “The Aubergine Dream.” 

As I opened the door, I considered all of the people that I knew in my life, from my friends to my family to my acquaintances to people like Brendon that I couldn’t define. In the end, did it matter what category I put them in? I loved all of them, and I was grateful that I had such wonderful people in my life. When I entered the Aubergine that night, I couldn’t wait to see my partner in crime again. He may have evaded my efforts to put him in a box, but in a way, that made him even more wonderful in my mind.


	12. Why do we create art?

When I opened the door, I was glad to see that the show hadn’t quite started yet. The drum set was set up and Spencer was ready to play, but Brendon was nowhere in sight. I made my way through the bar and towards the stage, where I approached Spencer. “Hey Ryan,” Spencer said as he fumbled with his drumsticks. “We’ve been waiting for you. Where were you?” 

“I got caught up at a party in my dorm,” I explained. “Where’s Brendon?” 

“Ryan!” Brendon shouted as he emerged from the far back of the room. “There you are! I need some help with something.” 

“What do you need help with?” 

Brendon pulled me aside, grinned, and said, “I was thinking about wearing eyeliner, and I figured that you were really good with that sort of thing…” 

“Thanks Brendon,” I said as I gave him a small smile and tried not to let my heart explode out of my chest. 

“Could you help me?” Brendon asked. He sat down and handed me an eyeliner pen. 

“I think so,” I said. I crouched down to get a better look at Brendon’s face and frankly, I had no idea how I could make it even more beautiful than it already was. Despite my worries that I would screw up somehow, I carefully outlined Brendon’s gorgeous brown eyes. I decided to go for a relatively simple look with a few red accents.. It wasn’t my best work, but it didn’t hurt that Brendon’s face looked sublime before I even began. 

“Are you done yet?” Brendon asked me several times while he tried his best not to move around. He wasn’t exactly doing a great job of that, but what could I expect? He was naturally hyper. 

I looked at his face one last time just to make sure that everything was in place, and as it turned out, Pete was right. Makeup did make a guy look beautiful. 

Brendon scrambled into the restroom to take a look, and I followed him. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t resist a smile. “Ryan, this looks amazing,” he said. “How did you get so good at this?” 

I shrugged. “I just practiced a lot,” I said. “Also, Pete Wentz gave me a few good tips.” 

“Yeah, but Pete’s guyliner doesn’t look as good as yours,” Brendon said. 

“I don’t think so,” I said, blushing. 

“I think so,” Brendon said. “Anyways, let’s go out there and play. It’s way past nine in the afternoon.” 

Brendon and I returned to the stage, and while I quietly snuck over to the piano bench, Brendon took a long sip of his peach and lime daiquiri, grabbed the microphone, and started to sing. He sounded just as beautiful as he always did, and I tried not to let that distract me as I played. I was getting better at the various songs that Brendon had me play, although I almost always got distracted while I was playing. How was Spencer able to ignore Brendon and just play? For me, Brendon was a presence that demanded my attention, no matter how much I wanted to focus on the music. 

During that particular show, I had the misfortune of messing up the very last chord of the last song. I don’t think anyone else in the bar noticed, but I couldn’t help but feel as if it was another example of my awful luck. Why did Brendon have to be such a hindrance to my playing? I couldn’t decide whether he was the best or worst thing that had happened to me so far that year. 

Once all of the applause had died down, Brendon wandered over to me. “Ryan, are you okay?” he said. “You look like you have a fever you can’t sweat out.” 

“I’m okay, Brendon,” I insisted, although even I wasn’t quite sure of how I felt. My mind was turning in circles, and thinking about Brendon too much only made it worse. 

“Okay,” Brendon said. “Thanks for doing my eyeliner, by the way.” 

“No problem,” I said as I played a couple of notes on the piano. There was a moment of awkward silence before I asked Brendon about something that had been bothering me for a while. “Brendon, why do you do these shows?” 

Brendon shrugged. “I just think it’s fun,” he said. 

“That can’t be the whole story,” I said. “There must be something deeper.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s just because it’s fun,” Brendon said. “Do I need a better reason? Playing here lets me make music, drink peach and lime daiquiris, and meet cute boys all at the same time, and honestly, that’s all I need.” 

“I could understand that,” I said. 

“Besides, I think you should ask yourself the same question,” Brendon said. “Do you have some sort of deep reason for wanting to be here?” 

I thought about it for a while, and in the end, I wasn’t sure that I didn’t. I had no desire to admit my own hypocrisy to Brendon, but I had come for the money and stayed for the people here at the Aubergine. 

“That’s what I thought,” Brendon said after several minutes of silence. “Ryan, you might be a hypocrite, but I still think you’re pretty brilliant.” 

“Thanks Brendon,” I said. “You’re smart too.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Brendon said. Of course, I needed to argue my case, so Brendon and I kept talking until I was practically falling asleep. By some crazy miracle, Brendon never seemed to get tired, so although I hated leaving him, I was always the one going home early. “Remember to show up on time tomorrow!” Brendon called as I left the Aubergine. 

“I will, Brendon!” I shouted as I waved to him. Even as I walked back to Flack Hall, I couldn’t wait for the next day’s performance. It may have had no purpose other than entertaining Brendon, Spencer, and I, but that didn’t make it any less valuable. 

I opened the door to Room 27 again, and I got ready for bed while Patrick snored softly. Once I was ready, I slipped into bed and turned out the lights, glad that Patrick hadn’t noticed anything. 

I only got a few hours of sleep that night, since Patrick still felt the need to wake me up at five o’clock in the morning. “Patrick?” I mumbled when he started blasting Elvis Costello in my ears. “Can you please sleep like a normal person for once?” 

“I’m already up,” Patrick said. “I couldn’t go back to sleep even if I wanted to.” 

“That doesn’t mean that you have to wake me up,” I said. I reached for my phone and saw that I had Great People of Mathematics and Advanced Piano Studies that day, along with a Guyliner Club meeting. Patrick’s schedule was a bit heavier than mine, so he would probably be gone for most of the day. Maybe I could take a nap in between the meeting and work. 

I tried to go back to sleep, but nothing I did could help me return to my dream. It was a good dream too, if only because Patrick hadn’t woken me up in my dream and Brendon may or may not have been involved. Then again, maybe that's what life is about - reality waking you up from your sweetest dreams. 

At around seven, I lifted myself out of bed and trudged downstairs. I quickly ate a small stack of pancakes and headed to Advanced Piano Studies, where my professor was busy taking all of the fun out of my favorite activity. I suffered through an hour of practicing, attempting to avoid my assigned Rachmaninoff concerto by practicing the music that I had been playing with Brendon. 

“Ryan Ross!” Professor Leopold shouted when he entered my practice room. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just practicing,” I said. 

“If you want to get better on your instrument, you’d better get going on that concerto,” Professor Leopold said. “You’re performing it in two weeks.” 

“Two weeks!” I shouted. “You just assigned it to me on Friday!” 

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you practiced what you were supposed to, Ryan,” Professor Leopold said. 

“Fine,” I said as I gave my professor a nasty look and started practicing the barely playable concerto. As soon as Professor Leopold left, I slammed my fingers on the piano keys, creating a dissonant chord, and then I returned to playing whatever I wished. 

Great People of Mathematics went by without a problem, and before long, it was time to head over to the Pendragon Center for my Guyliner Club meeting. When I arrived at the meeting, there was a large easel directly in front of Gerard’s usual spot, along with a box of paintbrushes and a variety of colors of paint. 

“What are all of the art supplies for?” I asked. 

“I decided to get started on my senior project,” Gerard said. “I’m going to paint you guys.” 

“Ooh, this sounds fun,” Pete said. “Can you paint me with my fidget spinner?” 

Gerard rolled his eyes and answered, “Of course not. This is my project, not yours. Who wants to be painted first?” 

“I’ll go first,” Frank answered. Gerard pulled a chair over so that it was near the easel, and Frank sat there, posing for the portrait. Gerard immediately began to paint, occasionally glancing over to get a better look at his boyfriend. 

“Frank, I swear that you have just the right face for this,” Gerard said as black and white paint flew from his paintbrush. 

“Thanks,” Frank said. Meanwhile, Pete, Laura, and I chatted about our classes and the Aubergine, and the conversation continued even while Gerard painted each of them. 

I was the last to be painted. I sat down in the chair next to the easel while Gerard created his piece of art. As I tried to sit as still as I could, I wondered why Gerard was putting so much effort into his art project. The easy answer was that it was so that he could graduate with an art degree, but that didn’t answer why he was going after that art degree in the first place. Art wasn’t something that had any obvious purpose in society, so why did we do it anyways? 

Humans can be strange and irrational beings sometimes, and art may be the ultimate expression of that. Just about everyone I knew, from Brendon to Professor Leopold to Gerard, loved art with a passion that rivaled my passion for figuring out why they loved art so much, and even I could appreciate a beautiful painting or a lovely piece of music. It may not make much sense, but the best things in life didn’t have to make sense. They were beautiful anyways. 

Brendon immediately popped into my mind, but I pushed him away. As much as I had grown to like him, I couldn’t let him become a distraction. There had to be some way to get me out of my mind, but I hadn’t thought of it yet.


	13. Who was M.C. Moneybags?

The school year went on, and with everything that had been going on in my life, midterms snuck up on me. I had to spend most of my afternoons that week holed up in the library, searching for a purpose as I looked through my pages of notes. I still went to the Aubergine each night, and seeing Brendon was always the highlight of my week, but I could never stay for long, as much as I wanted to. I always had more studying that I needed to do so that I could keep my GPA up. 

As it was, my grades were fine, and what was the point of grades anyways? They didn’t accurately assess my intelligence because nobody thinks what I think, especially not my professors. However, my mom desperately wanted me to succeed in college, and her definition of success put a lot of emphasis on a high grade point average. I didn’t want to let her down. 

Despite all of my efforts to focus on my studies, if only for that week, Brendon wouldn’t leave my head. Every time the door in Beauregard Library opened, I imagined that it was Brendon entering the library, clad in one of his sparkly suits. I envisioned him sliding into the chair next to mine and asking me about my classes, as well as telling me a little bit about his coursework. Maybe he was even taking one of my classes, and we could study together. In my daydreams, we would take turns quizzing each other on important terms from philosophy. He would always do a little bit better than me, but he was surprisingly modest about it. “Come on, Ryan,” he would tell me. “You’re doing amazing, but you just have to remember what Cartesian Interactionism is.” 

For the record, it’s the theory that the non-physical mind and the physical body can affect each other. That’s one of the handful of vocabulary terms that I do know. 

Unfortunately, Brendon never did show up in the library, but I did see some of my other friends there quite a lot. Frank was there all the time, and Gerard usually tagged along. The two of them frequently distracted me while I tried to study, usually by talking rather loudly about Halloween, comic books, dogs, punk rock, or some combination of those things. 

One day, while the two of them were sitting next to me arguing over whether Batman or the Doom Patrol would win in a fight, apparently as part of some sort of card game that I didn’t quite understand, I asked, “So Gerard, how’s that painting coming along?” 

Gerard simply ignored me and kept arguing with Frank. “You have got to be kidding me, Frank,” he said. “Robotman is immune to bullets, Elasti-Girl would kill Batman easily, and The Chief would mastermind it all. I don’t know how you could even argue that Batman could win.” 

“Batman would run them all over with his Batmobile,” Frank replied. 

“Your cards don’t say that Batman has a Batmobile,” Gerard said. “It does say that he has no depth perception though, and that would definitely make it way easier for the Doom Patrol to beat him.” 

“Well, I think that Batman has a Batmobile, because that’s kind of part of being Batman,” Frank said. “Also, if we’re going to argue cards, I don’t think it’s fair that your card said ‘pick your favorite superhero’ and you picked a whole team.” 

“I couldn’t pick a favorite member of the Doom Patrol!” Gerard whined. “Ryan, what do you think? The Doom Patrol would totally beat Batman, right?” 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, the Doom Patrol would absolutely beat Batman,” Gerard said. “Frank, I think I won.” 

“Fine,” Frank said. “You had better cards anyways.” 

“Ryan, I think you asked me a question,” Gerard said as he put the game away. “What was it?” 

“How’s your painting coming along?” I asked. 

“What painting?” Gerard asked. 

“I think he’s referring to your paintings of the Guyliner Club,” Frank said. 

“I haven’t worked on those recently,” Gerard said. “I’ve been...uh...a little bit sick.” 

“Yes, Gerard has come down with a nasty illness,” Frank said sarcastically. “It’s called senioritis.” 

“Frank!” Gerard said. “I do not have senioritis!” 

“You totally do, but I love you anyways,” Frank said as he pecked Gerard on the lips. 

“I love you too,” Gerard said as I pretended to be very interested in my Great People of Mathematics book. I did think that Frank and Gerard made a cute couple, but watching them only reminded me of my own loneliness. After another hour or so of trying to focus, I decided to head to Willoughby Library to see if it might be quieter over there. I picked up my backpack and left the library, hoping that I might have better luck finding a quiet place on the other side of campus. 

“Where are you going?” Frank asked. 

“I think I just need a change in scenery,” I said. 

“Alright,” Frank said. “I’ll see you later, Ryan.” 

I walked down the road that led to the west side of campus, but on my way to Willoughby, I saw something pretty odd. 

Patrick was standing next to the M.C. Moneybags statue without his trademark hat and square glasses. A distraught expression was on his face as Pete Wentz and one of his friends walked away, laughing. I had no idea what all of the commotion was all about until I looked up at the statue. 

Patrick’s glasses were perched on M.C. Moneybags’ nose, and his precious fedora was sitting precariously on top of the statue’s head, complete with a leaf of kale tucked inside. Patrick tried to jump to reach the hat, but he was too short. It seemed like the hat and glasses were there to stay. 

“Need a little help there, freshman?” Pete said mockingly as Patrick continued to reach for his hat. He grinned and walked away, leaving Patrick rather frustrated. 

“Ryan?” Patrick said. “Can you please help me out here?” 

“Sure,” I said, remembering all of the times that Patrick had done me a favor. I jumped, grabbed the glasses, and handed them back to Patrick. 

“Thanks,” Patrick said as he put his glasses back on. “That’s a lot better already. Can you get the fedora too?” 

“I don’t know about that,” I said as I looked up at the statue, which was around eight and a half feet tall. I wasn’t sure if Dr. Moneybags was actually that tall, or if the sculptor had decided to exaggerate his height a little bit, but reaching the top of the statue would be quite a challenge. In fact, I wasn’t sure how Pete had gotten it up there in the first place. His friend must have done it. 

I jumped again, and after a few tries, I snatched the fedora and returned it to Patrick. “Thank you so much, Ryan,” Patrick said. 

“You’re welcome,” I said. “It wasn’t fair what Pete and his friend did to you.” 

Patrick shrugged. “It’s a school tradition,” he said. “They put freshmens’ hats up on the statue all the time, usually along with a few kale leaves. I knew that it was going to happen to me at some point.” 

“That doesn’t make it right,” I said. 

“Where are you headed?” Patrick asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject. 

“I’m going to Willoughby Library,” I answered. 

“That’s kind of funny,” Patrick said. “I was going over to Beauregard.” 

“I just came from there,” I said. “Don’t sit anywhere near Frank or Gerard.” 

“I think I can handle that,” Patrick said. “See you later, Ryan.” 

“Bye Patrick,” I said as I started walking towards Willoughby Library. 

When I entered Willoughby Library, I decided to ignore all of the classes that I needed to study for, and I started reading _M.C. Moneybags: A Biography_. It was a fascinating little story, and once I was done, I read two of Dr. Moneybags’ most famous philosophical theses until it was time to head over to the Aubergine. I knew that I was procrastinating, but it was a worthwhile procrastination, if such a thing existed. 

On my way to the Aubergine, I considered what I had read. M.C. Moneybags seemed to advocate the idea of maximizing happiness for all, which seemed like a great idea, at least in theory. Convenience and education kept popping up as well, since they were both ideas that he clearly valued. According to the biography that I read, Kale University was the ultimate expression of his ideas - a place that provided the sort of education that would lead to true happiness in life. 

I wasn’t sure what true happiness was, or if it even existed at all, but I could see why I was so drawn to the university that M.C. Moneybags had founded. 

A few days later, I finally got around to taking my exams, after plenty of preparation. I spent the whole day going from class to class, taking nastily exhausting tests and wishing for some sort of break. I could hardly focus on my exams when I knew that I would be playing at the Aubergine that night, and I could go back to chatting with Brendon for most of the night like I usually did. Just that thought made my heart beat faster, and my desire for escape only grew. 

My last exam was for Advanced Piano Studies, and instead of a proper test, Professor Leopold gave us a playing exam. I had to play that Rachmaninoff concerto, but I barely made it through the piece. The other students in the class gave me polite applause, even though I could see Professor Leopold’s displeased expression. I already knew that I had done poorly on the exam. Advanced Piano Studies wasn’t my subject, and besides, my grades didn’t reflect who I was on the inside. Nothing could truly do that. 

As soon as all of my exams were over, I sprinted across campus so I could get to the Aubergine as soon as possible. After all of the chaos that midterms had brought me, I desperately needed to see Brendon. 

On my way to the Aubergine, I spotted Patrick. He was wearing a leaf of kale in his fedora, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. I presumed that nothing else had happened with Pete or any of his friends. I didn’t understand why they had done that to him, even if it was a school tradition. How could anyone be mean to Patrick Stump?

I couldn’t stop for long. I ran away from the Kale University campus and into the rest of Old Haven until I reached the building with the neon purple sign. I swung the door open and quickly spotted Brendon. He wasn’t exactly hard to find in his sparkly attire, but I suspected that was just how he wanted it. 

“Hey Brendon,” I said as I approached him. 

“Oh, hi Ryan,” Brendon said. “What’s up?” 

“I just finished up my midterm exams,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I flunked Advanced Piano Studies.” 

“That can’t be right,” Brendon said. “You’re a brilliant pianist.” 

“Thanks, but my piano professor disagrees,” I said. 

“I know just how to make everything better,” Brendon said with a mischievous smile. “It’s nine in the afternoon. Let’s get this show going.” 

With nothing more than those words, I was back where I belonged: in the Aubergine accompanying Brendon’s angelic voice with my piano chords.


	14. Why doesn't anyone want to join the Greek Friendship Society?

I don’t know how, but Frank Iero managed to convince the entire student body that dressing up for Halloween was the coolest thing ever, so when the day arrived, I was left trying to figure out what to dress up as. After some consideration, I decided to dress up as a mummy, because after midterms, a mummy seemed like an appropriate representation of my inner self. I felt dead inside, but for some reason, I was still alive. 

Patrick wasn’t as into Halloween as some of my other friends, so he simply threw on a pair of devil’s horns and handed out full-sized candy bars to anyone who bothered to stop by Room 27 in Flack Hall. Joe and Andy stopped by early in the day, dressed in even lazier costumes than Patrick, but we didn’t get too many other people until later that night, so I decided to take a quick nap while Patrick took over manning the door.

About an hour later, I woke up to Kylo Ren whacking me in the face with a lightsaber. 

“Can you please stop that?” I said as I opened my eyes again. 

“I know what I must do,” a familiar voice said as the lightsaber hit me a few more times. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it. Will you help me?” 

“Laura, you are getting _way_ too in character,” Frank commented from the hallway. 

“Sorry Frank,” Laura said. “I just really like Star Wars.” 

“We all know, Laura,” Frank said. “Ryan, you’ve got to come to the Aubergine tonight. I know you need sleep after finals, and to be honest, I probably do too, but this is going to be worth it.” 

“It’s Frank’s twenty first birthday!” Gerard said. 

“Oh, happy birthday, Frank,” I said as I got out of bed and spotted Gerard and Frank standing just outside of my dorm room. They were both dressed up in matching skeleton costumes. 

“Thanks,” Frank said. “I’m kind of excited for tonight.” 

“Let’s just say that we’re going to get him wasted and alone,” Gerard said. 

“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Frank said. “My twenty-first birthday is just an arbitrary milestone, really.” 

“Come on, Frank,” Gerard said. “We can at least have some fun. We’ll go trick or treating on the way.” 

“Sounds great,” Frank said. 

The four of us ended up going trick or treating around campus, passing through the rest of Flack Hall, the Greek Friendship Society house, Orlando Hall, and Shadow Hall before heading off campus. Thanks to the generosity of my fellow college students, I arrived at the Aubergine with a full stomach and a cheerful disposition. 

It seemed that the others at the Aubergine had gotten into the Halloween spirit as well. I spotted a variety of creative costumes, but there was something about Brendon’s vampire costume that drew me in. “Hey Ryan,” Brendon said when he saw me. “That’s a pretty sweet costume.” 

“Thanks,” I said. “I like yours too.” 

“Thank you,” Brendon said with a slight swish of his cape. “I was going to wear vampire teeth, but I figured those would be hard to sing in. Besides, they’d distract from my beautiful smile.” Brendon gave me a wide, goofy grin, and I couldn’t help but agree with him. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Brendon,” Spencer said as he adjusted his werewolf costume. 

“Spencer, you’re awesome, but sometimes, you just need to shut up,” Brendon said. “Ryan, are you ready to go?” 

“I think so,” I said. I sat down on the piano bench and began to lose myself in the music, glad that I had my friends with me for Halloween. 

By the time I returned to campus, the festivities were over. Patrick was fast asleep, with his devil horns resting next to his bed. I had actually enjoyed my Halloween more than I usually did, thanks to Spencer and Brendon. Even dressing up was kind of fun that year. 

However, it wasn’t long before Gerard showed up in Flack Hall again to bother us about the Greek Friendship Society. The day after Halloween, Patrick and I were hanging out in the common room, and just as Patrick was telling me about some lab that he had done in biology class, Gerard spontaneously appeared and asked, “Have either of you two made up your mind about the Greek Friendship Society yet?” 

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “Can I have more time to think?” 

“You could always come to another one of our parties,” Gerard suggested. “That might help you make up your mind.” 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Patrick said. 

“Come on,” Gerard insisted. “It will be fun. Ryan, you could come too.”

“I’m not joining Greek Friendship Society, Gerard,” I said. I knew that some of my thoughts were true, and others were false, and I had no way to tell which was which. However, I was sure that I had no reason to join Gerard’s Greek Friendship Society.

“Let me know if you change your mind, Ryan,” Gerard said. 

“I will,” I said. 

“Patrick, will you please come to our party on Saturday?” Gerard asked. 

Patrick thought about it for a few minutes. “I guess so.” 

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

It was just my luck that I ended up having other plans that Saturday. Shortly after I refused Gerard’s offer to join Delta Omicron Gamma, I heard from a boy in my philosophy class named Eduardo that Epsilon Kappa Iota was throwing a party that same day. “They’re a really neat fraternity,” Eduardo explained. “A lot of philosophy students are in it.” 

Even though I wasn’t sure that joining a fraternity (or Greek Friendship Society, for that matter) was a good idea, I couldn’t resist the idea of having intellectual discussions all day with a group of my fellow classmates. If I was going to join a fraternity, it would be Epsilon Kappa Iota. 

That day, I showed up in the Epsilon Kappa Iota house, which was right next to the Delta Omicron Gamma house. The two houses looked quite similar, but while the Greek Friendship Society house was swarming with Frank’s four-legged friends, there were no animals in sight at the Epsilon Kappa Iota house. 

At first, I didn’t know what to do. There were plenty of fraternity men wandering around the house, drinking and dancing to the generic pop music playing in the background. I recognized a few of them from my Introduction to Philosophy class, but most of the fraternity members were unfamiliar. If I had gone to the Greek Friendship Society party, I could have at least talked to Patrick, Frank, and Gerard, and perhaps Laura if she bothered to show up. 

After a few minutes of wandering around the house, a tall, bespectacled man with short, blond hair came up to me. “Hello there,” he said. “You must be one of the freshmen. What’s your name?” 

“Ryan,” I answered. 

“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” the man said. “I’m Ben. So Ryan, what’s your life story?” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. So much had happened in my life up to that point, yet there was nothing important or mind-blowing in my past. Why do we all go through life without ever doing anything meaningful? 

Ben noticed my hesitation and said, “How about we narrow it down to the last ten years?” 

“That’s not terribly helpful,” I said. “I didn’t do anything important before I was eight.” 

“It’s still easier than telling me everything that happened to you over your whole life,” Ben said. “How about this? Why are you here?” 

“That’s a good question, Ben,” I said. “I have no idea why I’m here on Earth, and I’m looking for a good answer. I don’t think I’ll ever understand my true purpose until I find the answer to that question.” 

“I was asking why you were at this party, not why you were on Earth.”

“Eduardo asked me to come,” I said. 

“Oh, that’s nice. Eduardo’s a pretty cool guy, but we’re still figuring out whether we want to give him a formal invitation to join or not. I’m glad he’s helping us increase our membership though.” 

“I never said that I was going to join Epsilon Kappa Iota.”

“Ryan, I’ll be honest with you,” Ben said. “If you’re even thinking about joining a fraternity, we’re probably your best option.” 

“Why do you think that?” I asked. 

“Just look at all of the other fraternities,” Ben said. “None of them are worth joining. Theta Gamma Gamma is possibly the most elitist group of students you’ll ever find. Most of the fraternity is made up of rich kids who can’t deal with anyone new joining their exclusive little club. They’re also mostly science or business majors, so they’re not particularly nice to philosophy majors like us. Lambda Gamma Sigma isn’t much better. They won’t accept anyone who’s not a varsity athlete.” 

“What if I joined the fencing team?” Sports weren’t my thing, but I always enjoy thinking about hypothetical situations like that. 

“Lambda Gamma Sigma doesn’t take kindly to newbies either, and fencing is a club sport,” Ben explained. “I would also stay far away from Zeta Chi Omega. They’re the most stereotypical fraternity you’ll find here on campus. They don’t do anything other than drinking absurd amounts of alcohol and hooking up with girls from Rho Eta Zeta.” 

“What about Delta Omicron Gamma?” I asked. 

“What’s that?” 

“I think he means the Greek Friendship Society,” one of Ben’s friends said. 

“The Greek Friendship Society?” Ben said. “Just stay away from them. They’re not a real fraternity. They’re just a bunch of gay weirdos who wish they were in a fraternity.” 

“You’re right about that, Ben,” his friend said. 

“The Greek Friendship Society isn’t all that bad,” I said. “I went to one of their parties once.” 

“Seriously?” Ben said as he gave me a strange look. 

“They’re the Greek Friendship Society, kid,” Ben’s friend said. “Nobody takes them seriously.” 

“That’s not true. Gerard Way sure takes the Greek Friendship Society seriously, but I don’t think anyone else does, not even his little dog-loving boyfriend,” Ben said, prompting a laugh from his friend. 

Thankfully, that was the end of our discussion on the Greek Friendship Society, but I had made up my mind. I wasn’t about to join an organization that made fun of some of my closest friends. Shortly before nine in the afternoon, I left the party to go to the Aubergine, and I never looked back. Clearly, Epsilon Kappa Iota wasn’t for me. 

The next day, I asked Patrick how the Greek Friendship Society party went. “It was okay,” Patrick said. “I spent most of the party petting Frank’s dogs. They’re so cute!” 

“Do you think you’ll join the Greek Friendship Society?” I asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” Patrick replied. “Do you think you’ll join Epsilon Kappa Iota?” 

“I’m not going to join a fraternity or the Greek Friendship Society,” I said. “It’s just not worth the trouble. I can have a healthy social life without being tied down to one organization.” 

Patrick thought about it for a few minutes and then said, “Maybe I’ll do that too. I’d rather be here in Flack Hall than live in the Greek Friendship Society house. It’s too rambunctious in there.” 

I nodded, but the events of the previous night made me think. Why were other people so hateful towards the Greek Friendship Society? Yes, they were annoying and kept me up all night, but I could never hate them. The few Greek Friendship Society members that I was close with were perfectly nice people. Perhaps all of us need to learn not to judge others before we truly get to know them. A little less prejudice in the world might go a long way.


	15. What does the piano know?

One November night, I miraculously didn’t have any homework to do, articles to read, or papers to write. I didn’t know how this had happened, especially given my long history of bad luck, but I had to take advantage of this wondrous event. I thought about all of the different ways in which I could spend all of this time that I never knew that I had, but in the end, the decision was easy. 

I decided to spend a few more hours at the Aubergine Dream. 

Despite my desire to go to the Aubergine early, I did want some company. I sent a quick email to the other members of the Guyliner Club asking them if they wanted to go to the Aubergine with me, and within a few minutes, I received the following replies. 

_gway18@kale.edu:_ I’m glad to see that you’re in love with the Aubergine, Ryan, but I’m very busy right now. I’ll meet you there later. 

_fiero19@kale.edu:_ I’m also busy. 

_pwentz20@kale.edu:_ I have a soccer game later, so I probably won’t be able to make it to the Aubergine tonight :( 

_ljgrace18@kale.edu:_ Ryan, please stop emailing me in the middle of Feminist Theory! 

I reconsidered my options, but there truly wasn’t anything better to do with my time. It would be best to go to the Aubergine without my friends. If I was lucky, Brendon would be there early too. Then again, I was never that lucky. Fate often seemed to be working against me, though I knew that was preposterous. I didn’t think that I had done anything to make fate despise me like that. 

I walked to the Aubergine and swung the door open. The bar was surprisingly empty, but it still seemed as if I had lucked out. Brendon was leaning against a wall, wearing a simple black T-shirt and skinny jeans. He was sipping on his drink when he noticed me entering the bar. “Hey Ryan,” he said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you, but what are you doing here so early?” 

I shrugged and said, “I didn’t have any homework tonight. I’m honestly not sure how that happened.” 

“Really?” Brendon said. “As a college student, that’s impressive.” 

“Well, Professor Leopold did tell me to practice that Schumann piece, but I don’t want to do that,” I said. “It’s a piece of art, and I should be able to decide what sort of art I want to play and what I don’t want to play.” 

“I can understand that,” Brendon said. “There are some nice classical pieces though. I like Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.” 

“Are you just trying to impress me with your nonexistent knowledge of classical music?” I asked. 

“Yes, but at least I’m willing to admit it,” Brendon said. 

I laughed and then asked, “What do you actually listen to?” I do think that someone’s music taste says quite a lot about them, and I was curious as to what Brendon listened to. 

“I listen to a lot of different types of music,” Brendon responded. “I’ll listen to anything from indie rock to hip-hop to punk. What about you?” 

“I’m the same way,” I said. “I listen to a lot of the Beatles though.” 

“That’s awesome!” Brendon said. “The Beatles are great.” 

“I just love listening to them,” I said. “There are other artists that I like, but I’ll always love the Beatles.” 

“Me too,” Brendon said. He coughed and then added, “So Ryan, how has your day been so far? As you can see, I’ve got a bit of a cold.” 

“I had Advanced Piano Studies and Great People of Mathematics today,” I told him. “After those two classes, I went back to Flack Hall for a little while, and then I came here.” 

“Do you really have a class called Great People of Mathematics?” Brendon asked. I nodded, and he said, “I can’t believe that’s a real class.” 

“I can’t believe that it counts as a math class,” I said as I walked towards the piano. “It’s by far the best mathematics course that I’ve ever taken.” 

“Math is the worst,” Brendon said. “I don’t think I’ve ever used a day of my education, Ryan, and I doubt you’ll use yours either.” 

“I definitely haven’t used anything I learned in high school,” I said, carefully tapping out a simple melody on the piano. “We’ll see about my college education.” 

“How did you learn how to play the piano anyways?” Brendon asked as he rested one arm on the instrument. 

“My mom taught me how to play,” I explained. “I’ve been playing ever since I was a little kid, although I’ve never been all that good at it.” 

“I think you’re very talented,” Brendon said. 

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I do love playing though. I think there’s something magical about the piano in particular.” 

“What do you mean?” Brendon asked as he sat next to me on the piano bench. 

“The piano just sits here in the Aubergine all day,” I explained. “It doesn’t go anywhere like a guitar or even Spencer’s drum kit. It gets to see every last thing that happens here, and I suspect that it’s gathered up quite a bit of knowledge because of that. This piano knows something I don’t know, and I’d love to find out what that something is.” 

“Wow, that’s a crazy way of thinking about it,” Brendon said. 

“I’m not sure whether you mean ‘crazy’ in a good way or a bad way,” I said. 

“I mean it in the best way possible,” Brendon said, grinning and scooting closer to me. 

“Thanks Brendon,” I said. “Anyways, I figure that if I play enough, the piano will let out its secrets.” 

“What do you think the piano knows?” Brendon asked. 

“I don’t know, Brendon,” I said. “I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to figure this out if I knew. All I know is that it’s something I don’t know. That just begs another question - what don’t I know? What essential piece of information am I missing here that the piano might happen to possess?” 

“Who do you think you are - some sort of modern day Socrates?” Brendon interrupted. 

I gave Brendon a soft smile and decided to answer his question with yet another question. “Don’t you know who I think I am, Brendon?” 

Brendon didn’t seem to know how to respond, so he tinkered with the piano keys instead. He clearly had no idea what to do with them, but it was cute to watch him try. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I sure am glad that you came here early, Ryan,” he said. “I meant it when I said that you were my favorite person.” 

I blushed and said, “Are you sure?” I was certain that Brendon was joking when he said that I was his favorite person when I first met him. We barely knew each other back then. 

“I’m sure,” Brendon said. “You are definitely my favorite person, and it’s not just because you’re an unbelievably good pianist.” 

Why else could I possibly be Brendon’s favorite person? There wasn’t much about me for him to like so much. What did he see when he looked at me? What made him say that I was his favorite person, out of all of the seven billion people on Earth? On that note, who was my favorite person? I could list plenty of people that I loved, and although Brendon would definitely be on that list, I wasn’t sure if he would be at the top. There were other people in my life that I cared about too. How could I rank people like that anyways, as if they were nothing more than objects that I could put on a list from best to worst? 

I’ve been thinking too much, but is there even such a thing as too much thinking? 

I eventually decided to respond by simply saying, “You’re one of my favorite people too.” 

“Thanks Ryan,” Brendon said. “You’re so sweet.” 

“So are you,” I said. 

“Just out of curiosity, what’s the point of all of your philosophizing?” Brendon asked. “What are you trying to get at?” 

“In the end, I’m trying to answer one essential question, although I’m starting to think that I’ll never be able to answer it,” I said. 

“What’s the question?” Brendon asked, and the genuine interest and curiosity in his voice nearly melted my heart. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“Why what?” Brendon said. “Doesn’t there have to be an ending to that?” 

“Why am I here?” I asked. “Why am I alive, why does anything exist at all, and why would anyone care about a philosophical, meandering conversation between two guys at a bar?” 

“Why not?” Brendon said. 

“What are you talking about?” I asked. 

“It’s the answer to your question,” Brendon said. “Why not?” 

“Nothing’s ever that simple, Brendon,” I said. 

“Who says it can’t be?” Brendon said. He had a point. There was no reason why things couldn’t be that easy, but in my experience, the easiest answer was rarely the right one. “Anyways, I really don’t see why people wouldn’t care about a philosophical, meandering conversation between two guys at a bar. I care, and I’m a person, right?” 

“Are you?” I asked. “What makes a person?” 

“I’m pretty sure that I’m a person, Ryan,” Brendon said with a chuckle. 

“There’s no way to tell for sure,” I said. “There’s no way to tell for sure that you’re real either.” 

“Now you’re just being silly,” Brendon said. “I know I’m real.” 

“I’ll trust you for now,” I said, only because I was certain that my heart would break if Brendon was nothing more than an illusion. I was well aware that I could never prove that he was real and not just a creation of my mind, but my life was much easier if I could just pretend that everything around me was real. 

I looked around the Aubergine, which was a little bit more crowded than it was before. I spotted Laura on the other side of the room, and Spencer had just walked in. However, it wasn’t quite nine o’clock yet. 

I glanced back towards the piano for a second. Something felt a little off, and I suspected that it had something to do with whatever the piano knew. However, I couldn’t figure out what it was. 

“Hey guys,” Spencer said as he approached us. “What’s up?” 

Brendon sneezed and then said, “This might be a paradox, but I think that God is punishing me for being an atheist.” 

Spencer and I both cracked up. I then said, “That’s definitely a paradox, Brendon. I do hope you get better though.” 

“Thanks Ryan,” Brendon said. 

“Are you still well enough to perform tonight?” Spencer asked. 

Brendon nodded. “I’m always well enough to perform,” he said. “You should know that, Spencer.” 

“Alright, Brendon,” Spencer said. “I’m going to go set up the drum set. Can you two please help me?” 

“Of course,” I said. It was only right for me to help Spencer. He had always been kind to me, and I might as well show that same kindness back. 

Brendon sighed and said, “Sure, Spencer. I’ll help.” 

In no time at all, Brendon, Spencer, and I set up the drum set. While we were setting up, I noticed Frank and Gerard entering the Aubergine. Gerard gave me a quick wave, and I waved back. Although I had missed having my friends at the Aubergine over the last few hours, I had Brendon, and he was great company. 

All of a sudden, the clock struck nine. Brendon finished off his drink, gave me a smile, and said, “We sure are in for a show tonight.” At that moment, he grabbed the microphone, I ran to the piano bench, and the real magic began.


	16. What is knowledge?

When I woke up the next morning with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, I took that as proof of my horrible luck. I knew that something had to be coming for me after an amazing night like that one, and sure enough, it took the form of Brendon Urie’s cold. 

Despite my illness, I still went to class and played at the Aubergine, although I did consider skipping Advanced Piano Studies a few times that week. Professor Leopold wouldn’t understand my suffering, but that wouldn’t matter. I deserved a break from his class. Nevertheless, I continued to show up, if only to make a half-hearted attempt to keep my GPA up. 

A few nights went by, and my cold only got worse. By the end of the week, I was so congested that I could barely speak. How could Brendon sing with a cold this bad? He had sounded gorgeous every night he was at the Aubergine, yet I was sure that he had suffered just as much as I was. How else would I have gotten this cold? Nobody else that I knew was sick that week. 

To counteract my misery, I stayed at the Aubergine for longer than usual that Friday. I knew that more sleep would help me get rid of that cold, but Brendon made me even happier than a peaceful rest would have. I spent most of the night chatting with him and simply enjoying his company, and I thought that it was one of the best decisions that I had ever made. 

On the way home, however, the medicine that I had taken earlier in the day began to wear off. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and I felt as if death was coming for me. I was well aware that I wasn’t really dying, but that was what I imagined death was like - coughing and sneezing in the cold, harsh winter air, unsure if you were going to make it home.

Eventually, I did find my way into Flack Hall, and I quietly opened the door to Room 27. Patrick seemed to be sleeping soundly, but I still tried to be as silent as possible as I entered the room. 

That was when my body betrayed me, and I let out a loud sneeze. 

Patrick bolted upright and turned on the lights. “Ryan!” he shouted. “Can you at least try to be quiet? I was trying to sleep!” 

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Patrick,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just finish getting ready for bed, and then we can both sleep.” Patrick didn’t respond, but he gave me a glare. “What do you want?” I asked. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this,” Patrick told me. 

“What are you talking about?” I asked him. 

“You’ve been going somewhere every night,” Patrick said as he climbed out of bed. “You’re always getting home late and waking me up, and it’s driving me insane. Ryan, where have you been going every night?” 

I gasped. How did Patrick know all of this? For that matter, how could anyone know anything? He had always been fast asleep each night when I came back to the dorm room, or so I thought. Perhaps I had been wrong about that. If I was wrong about something like that, what else could I be wrong about? Were some of my core beliefs completely and utterly wrong? What would I do then? 

I didn’t want to answer Patrick’s question directly, so I diverted his attention. “You’ve been driving me insane too,” I said. “Have you ever considered not waking up at five o’clock in the morning?” 

“That’s just when I wake up!” Patrick exclaimed. “I can’t control it!” 

“At the very least, you could avoid blasting Elvis Costello songs in my ear,” I said. “I don’t even like his music, and I definitely don’t like hearing it that early in the morning.” 

“How is that possible?” Patrick asked. “I thought everyone liked Elvis Costello.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Patrick, but not everyone likes the same music,” I said. “In some ways, life would be much better if everyone was the same, but in other ways, it would be far worse. There would be no point in making friends or talking to other people at all, and we would never progress as a society because we would all have the same ideas, beliefs, and flaws…” 

“Let’s get back on topic,” Patrick said. “Where have you been going every night?” 

“It’s not important,” I said, yawning. “Can we please just go to bed?” 

“Not yet,” Patrick said. “I want to know why I’m losing so much sleep. Is it because of the Guyliner Club? I bet it has something to do with them. You’re always hanging around those guys.” 

“It’s sort of related to the Guyliner Club,” I said. 

“I would say that the Guyliner Club is having meetings in the middle of the night, but there’s no reason for them to do that every single night,” Patrick said as he began to pace around the room. “There has to be something else involved.” 

I didn’t even bother to respond to that one. Patrick could think whatever he wanted to. Knowledge was meaningless unless it had some truth behind it. Besides, Patrick would panic if he knew that I was spending every night at a bar. 

“I’ve got it!” Patrick exclaimed. “You have a girlfriend! You’ve been sneaking out every night to be with her, which is honestly kind of cute.” 

“Patrick, that makes absolutely no sense at all,” I said. That was a particular piece of false knowledge that I just had to correct. 

“Maybe it’s a boyfriend you’ve been seeing every night,” Patrick suggested. 

“Brendon’s not my boyfriend!” I exclaimed. 

“Who’s Brendon?” Patrick asked. 

Sometimes I forgot that not everyone knew the same people that I did, but how could I even begin to explain Brendon? He was both my friend and my confidant, and he had an angelic singing voice to go along with his stunning looks, but that barely scratched the surface of who Brendon was. 

“It’s kind of complicated,” I eventually answered. 

“Can you at least try to explain yourself, Ryan?” Patrick asked. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Brendon in my life.” 

“Actually, you have heard of him, since I just mentioned him,” I corrected. 

“I’ve never heard of anyone named Brendon before today,” Patrick said. “So who is he?” 

“He’s just a friend of mine,” I explained, although that wasn’t quite accurate. Patrick was my friend too, and I didn’t have the same relationship with him that I did with Brendon. In fact, I wasn’t sure how to describe my relationship with Brendon at all. 

“Why would you sneak out to see him every night if he was just your friend?” Patrick asked. 

“He’s just a very close friend,” I said. “Can’t you accept that?” 

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story, Ryan. I have the right to know why you’ve been waking me up every night for over a month.” 

“If that’s the case, then why have you been waking me up at five in the morning?” 

“I told you that already. That’s just when I wake up.” 

“Nobody naturally wakes up that early,” I said as I folded my arms over my chest and glared at Patrick. At that point, he was doing nothing but keeping me up for far longer than I needed to be. 

“I naturally wake up that early,” Patrick insisted. 

“Can we please just both go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow.” 

“Not yet. Where have you been going every night?” 

I was more than ready to give up, so I did. I sighed and explained, “There’s this bar called the Aubergine Dream that the members of the Guyliner Club took me to a while ago. I’m the piano player there now, and I’ve been going to the Aubergine every night. Brendon is the singer that I’m accompanying.” 

Patrick’s eyes opened wide. “Ryan!” he exclaimed. “You can’t do that! You’re not twenty one yet.” 

“I’m not actually drinking anything,” I said. “I’m only playing the piano. It’s harmless.” 

“I don’t think so,” Patrick said. 

I knew in my heart that going to the Aubergine wasn’t the worst thing in the world, even if Patrick refused to accept it. I was only socializing, making music, and having fun, and none of those things were inherently evil, no matter how you defined good and evil. “There’s nothing wrong with going to the Aubergine, Patrick,” I told him. 

“I think there’s something wrong with it,” Patrick said. “I’m telling Campus Services about this.” 

“Come on, Patrick,” I said. “That’s not necessary.” 

“I think it is,” Patrick said. “You’re leaving campus every night to engage in illegal activity and returning just before dawn. I think that Campus Services should know about this.” 

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” I said. “I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my life. Besides, even if you do call Campus Services, I doubt they’ll do anything about it.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Patrick said. 

“How about this?” I said. “I’ll come home a little bit earlier as long as you stop waking me up at five o’clock?” 

Patrick considered the offer for a few minutes while I crashed onto my bed. I had already missed too much sleep, although if Patrick accepted my offer, I might be able to get a little bit more rest than usual. “I suppose that works,” Patrick said. “If I hear any more about this, I’m telling the administration though.” 

“That’s fine,” I said. “So long and goodnight, Patrick.” 

“Goodnight, Ryan,” Patrick said as he turned out the lights. 

I shut my eyes, imagined kissing Brendon goodbye, and just slept for the next several hours. In fact, it was nearly noon when I woke up, and Patrick was long gone. I rolled out of bed and started working on my philosophy paper, glad that Patrick had kept his promise. For the first time since I had arrived at Kale University, I didn’t hear a single Elvis Costello song that day. 

The only problem was that Patrick refused to speak to me. When I tried to sit next to him at dinner, he moved to a different table, and when I approached him in the library, he had his nose in a biology textbook, completely ignoring my presence. I wanted to be friends with my roommate, and the Aubergine had completely wrecked our relationship. 

Were all of the people at the Aubergine worth losing Patrick? I wasn’t sure. Patrick was annoying before this, but he had been an excellent friend in other ways. I didn’t want our friendship to die, but it might be worth it if I could keep my job and the relationships that I had developed with the people at the Aubergine. 

That night, I didn’t stay at the Aubergine long after the show. “Why are you leaving so fast, Ryan?” Brendon asked me. “What’s the rush?” 

“My roommate wants me to come home earlier so I don’t wake him up,” I explained. 

“Got it,” Brendon said. “I had a roommate my freshman year, and he kept judging me for coming here. I’m kind of glad that I’m living by myself now.” 

“That must be nice,” I said. Although I did appreciate having Patrick around, living with him could be a pain. 

“It is nice, but I get lonely sometimes,” Brendon said. “Anyways, I’ll see you tomorrow, Ryan.” 

“See you soon,” I said as I gave him a quick wave. I walked back to Flack Hall, still suffering from that cold that Brendon had given me. When I arrived back in my dorm room, Patrick was still awake and working on his homework. 

“I’m home, Patrick,” I said, but he didn’t respond to me. Instead, he continued to work on his homework as if I wasn’t there. 

I knew that Patrick hated me because of what I had told him, but what did it mean to know something when all it did was hurt both of us?


	17. Is lying every morally right?

A few days later, my cold was gone, but my friendship with Patrick was still broken, and sometimes, it seemed like it was beyond repair. At lunch, I sat with my friends from the Guyliner Club, and Patrick walked by, wheezing and coughing. “Are you okay?” I asked him. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just have a little bit of a cold. I’m still going to my writing seminar, and I definitely don’t need your pity.” 

As he walked away, Gerard asked, “What’s up with him?” 

“That’s my roommate, Patrick Stump,” I explained. I told them about our argument over the Aubergine, and all of them listened carefully, except for Pete, who seemed rather distracted as he watched Patrick leave the dining hall. 

“That sucks, Ryan,” Gerard said once I was finished telling my story. 

“I guess some people will just never get it,” Laura said. 

“I’m still going to the Aubergine though, no matter what Patrick says,” I said. 

“Well, if you go tonight, I’ll see you there,” Gerard said. “Right, Frank?” 

“We talked about this,” Frank said. “I’m only going with you if you finish your artist statement.” 

“Right,” Gerard said. “You’re so good to me, Frank, making sure I do my homework. What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

Laura said that she had to go to class, but I’m pretty sure that was just an excuse to get away from Gerard and Frank’s sickening sweetness. I left with her, but after classes were over, I returned to the Aubergine once again. I tried to come home earlier, but I couldn’t stand not being around Brendon. I knew that Patrick would be even more mad at me than he already was if I kept coming home late, so over the next few days, I started coming in earlier and earlier to chat with Brendon. It was a nice way to relax after a long day of classes. 

I had to admit that not lying to Patrick anymore felt nice. There were some advantages to having everything out in the open, but not being able to speak to my roommate was frustrating, to say the least. I could only hope that Patrick would forgive me. 

What did it mean to forgive someone anyways? If Patrick started speaking to me again, but never stopped feeling resentful towards me, would that be forgiveness? I wished that he could just forget about everything that I had said to him, but something told me that was never going to happen. 

I was still pondering the situation with Patrick when I opened the door to the Aubergine. As usual, Brendon was standing next to the piano, waiting for me. “Hey Ryan,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again. How’s it going?” 

“My roommate’s still mad at me.” 

“That’s too bad. I’d invite you to crash in my apartment, but there isn’t much space. Besides, it’s not exactly close to the Kale campus.” 

“Flack Hall isn’t close either,” I said. “I think the Greek Friendship Society house might be closer to the rest of campus than my residence hall, and they’re technically off campus.” 

“That must be horrible,” Brendon said. “I know pretty much everyone in Greek Friendship Society, and although I love all of them, I wouldn’t want to live next to them.” 

“They’re way too noisy, but at least I don’t have Patrick waking me up at five o’clock anymore.” 

“Who wakes up at five o’clock?” 

“I have no idea,” 

“Is your roommate even human?” 

I shrugged and then said, “It depends on your definition of ‘human.’” I looked around the Aubergine as people began to file into the bar. I spotted the rest of the Guyliner Club and gave them a quick wave. 

“I kind of want to meet this guy,” Brendon said. “Does he ever come to the Aubergine?” 

“Patrick isn’t the type for a place like this,” I said. 

“He’s missing out,” Brendon said as he took another sip of his drink.

“He absolutely is,” I said. “I don’t think I could ever convince Patrick to come to the Aubergine though. He won’t forgive me for coming here, so what would it take to get him to come here himself?” 

“It would probably take a miracle, or maybe just a cute boy,” Brendon said. “That’s the whole reason why I come here instead of the Poisoned Youth. The guys are so much cuter here.” 

I blushed and said, “You’re right about that. I don’t think Patrick is gay though.” 

“You never know,” Brendon said. 

All of a sudden, something crazy happened. A ridiculously tall young man entered the Aubergine. He was holding hands with a girl, and both of them were wearing Yale hoodies. The two of them seemed like the sort of people who would prefer the Poisoned Youth over the Aubergine, so nobody had any idea what they were doing here. 

“What is going on?” I heard Pete ask as he walked up to Brendon and I. “I thought this was a gay bar.” 

“Me too,” I said.

“I don’t recognize either of them, and I know all of the regulars here” Pete said.

“Maybe they’re lost,” Laura suggested. 

“I think they might be,” Pete said. “That’s the only explanation I can think of.” 

“I’m guessing that they’re lost,” I said. “Brendon? What do you think?” I didn’t get a response, and when I looked towards the spot where Brendon was, he wasn’t there. I rolled my eyes and searched through the bar for Brendon. It took me only a few minutes to find him hiding behind the piano. 

“Brendon?” Spencer said as he leaned against the piano. “What are you doing there?” 

“Maybe he won’t notice me if I hide here,” Brendon said. 

“Is this about the guy who just walked in with his girlfriend?” Spencer asked. Brendon nodded, and Spencer said, “I don’t know why he’s here either, but this is the Aubergine. We welcome everyone. Besides, it’s better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.” 

I looked back towards the couple and noticed that the man had let go of his girlfriend’s hand. He was walking towards the piano, and when he looked over the instrument, he smirked and said, “Brendon Urie. We’ve waited so damn long for this.” 

“Dallon Weekes,” Brendon said. “What are you doing here?” 

“I just wanted to check up on you,” Dallon said. “Is that so wrong?” Just from looking at him, I could tell that something was wrong. He was wearing a Yale sweatshirt after all, and Yale kids wouldn’t hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die. 

“You know that I don’t need you checking up on me,” Brendon said. 

“I beg to differ, Brendon,” Dallon said. “You’re not the same kid that I used to know.” 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Brendon asked. He started to sip his drink, but Dallon snatched it away. 

“I think it is,” Dallon said. He then gestured towards me and asked Brendon, “Is that your new boyfriend?” 

“Ryan and I aren’t together,” Brendon said. “He’s just my piano player.” That marked the second time in a single week that someone had mistaken me for Brendon’s boyfriend, but the real question was whether I wanted Brendon to be my boyfriend or not. It certainly wasn’t a bad idea. 

“Knowing you, I somehow doubt that he’s just your piano player,” Dallon said. 

“He’s my friend, but that’s all,” Brendon said. “Anyways, why are you even bothering with me? It certainly looks like you’ve moved on.” 

Dallon smiled and said, “Breezy’s the best. Don’t you remember her, Brendon? She went to school with us.” 

“Not really,” Brendon said. 

“That’s a shame,” Dallon said. “I bet you two would get along. Anyways, Ryan, I should probably tell you a few things about Brendon.” 

“What do you want to tell me?” I asked. 

“First, you probably shouldn’t date him,” Dallon said. “It’s just not a good idea.” 

“Brendon and I aren’t dating,” I said. 

“You probably will be dating before you know it,” Dallon insisted. “I know mutual attraction when I see it.” 

At that point, I decided to let the issue go, but why exactly did Dallon think that Brendon was interested in me? From what I could see, Brendon only thought of me as a friend and nothing more. “Why shouldn’t I date Brendon?” I asked. 

Dallon sighed and said, “It’s a long story, but you should probably hear it. Brendon and I were students at Yale together.” 

“Wait what?” I said. “Brendon went to Yale?” 

Dallon nodded. “He did, but let me continue. Brendon and I were in psych together during our freshman year, and we immediately became friends and later boyfriends. We spent every second together - studying together, wandering around New Haven, going to bars. We made a very cute couple, at least in my opinion.” 

“You’re not together now, are you?” I said. 

“Of course not,” Dallon said. “We broke up two years ago.” 

“Why did you break up?” I asked. 

“I was getting there,” Dallon said. “Be patient, Ryan. The two of us would always hang out at one of the bars in New Haven, and eventually, we started going into Old Haven, even though it’s nowhere near the Yale campus. He would usually drink a little bit, and I would stay sober. However, I started to notice just how much Brendon was drinking. It got to the point where he wasn’t doing any of his schoolwork. I tried to get help for him, but he just wouldn’t listen to me. At the end of the year, he dropped out of school, and I broke up with him. We haven’t exactly been on good terms since then, but I’ve moved on, and it seems like he has too. As far as I can tell, his alcoholism has only gotten worse since we broke up. Just don’t get too involved with him, Ryan, and you’ll be just fine.” 

“Come on, Dallon,” Breezy said as she walked up to Dallon. “You said that we weren’t going to be here long.” 

Dallon sighed and said, “Fine. Let’s go. See you later, Brendon.” 

“Bye Dallon,” Brendon grumbled. 

My first instinct was to say that Dallon was lying. What proof did he have? Brendon did drink quite a bit, but I had never seen him drunk, and there was no way that he had gone to Yale. Brendon didn’t act like Dallon or Mikey, so Dallon’s whole story must have been false. 

Despite all of that, I had to ask Brendon himself. “Brendon?” I said. “Was any of what Dallon said true?” 

Brendon laughed and said, “Of course not. Dallon’s a liar. I dated him, but everything else he said was a lie.” 

“What is the truth then?” I asked. 

“He just made all of that up to keep you away from me,” Brendon said. “I don’t know why I dated him, honestly.” 

That was the truth, then. Dallon was nothing but a liar, and I had no reason to believe anything that he had said about Brendon. I wandered over to the other side of the bar, where Spencer and Heidi were chatting about Dallon. “Do you happen to know him?” Spencer asked. 

“I’ve seen him around, but this is the first time he’s been here in a long time, and I’ve never seen that girl before,” Heidi answered. 

“What was she doing here?” Spencer said. “I thought the Aubergine was a gay bar.” 

“Actually, it’s not, but ever since Gerard Way’s crowd started showing up, everyone seems to have forgotten that,” Heidi said. She then shrugged and said, “I don’t mind it too much.” 

I looked back towards Brendon, who was adjusting his tie. He looked beautiful in his sparkly black suit, and I wondered how Dallon could possibly want to hurt a man like Brendon. Was it ever right to lie like Dallon had? When it hurt Brendon so much, the answer was obvious. Lying wasn’t right at all. Perhaps there were other situations where lying might be right, but it was always wrong when it hurt others. I could see the pain etched onto Brendon’s face. Why had he dated such a terrible person? I couldn’t fathom it. 

Dallon Weekes was just another reason for me to hate Yale students. They were elitist snobs and two-faced liars, or so I thought at the time. I had met only the worst of Yale’s student body, but at that moment, I never wanted to see another Yale student again. 

“Ryan, are you ready to go?” Brendon asked me. 

“I think so,” I said as I hopped onto the piano bench. Brendon’s angelic voice quickly engulfed me, making it easy for me to forget about everything that had happened that night. After all of that, I wanted nothing more than to forget that Dallon Weekes had ever entered the Aubergine.


	18. What am I thankful for?

Thanksgiving arrived at Kale University, meaning that the students who lived nearby went home for the long weekend, the students who lived far away stayed at Kale, and the international students were confused as to what all of the fuss was about. Since my closest family lived on the other side of the continent and I didn’t have enough time or money to go home, I was stuck at Kale. It wasn’t such a bad thing - if I had to be stuck anywhere, Kale was where I would want to be - but I did miss my mother. 

I had neglected to call her as often as I had promised, since I was so busy with work and school, so I talked to her for quite a while a few days before Thanksgiving. I somehow managed to avoid mentioning Brendon, the Aubergine, or my fight with Patrick as I told her about all of the wonders of Kale. However, she did ask me one tough question. 

“Ryan, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Mom asked. 

As a matter of fact, I didn’t have Thanksgiving plans. The Aubergine was closed for the day, so I figured that I would spend Thanksgiving in my dorm room, eating leftover pizza and wallowing in my loneliness. “I don’t know yet,” I told Mom. “I’ll figure something out.” 

“Please do,” Mom said. “I don’t want to think about my son spending Thanksgiving all alone.” 

“What about you, Mom?” I asked. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” 

“I’m inviting a few of our neighbors over. I’ll miss you though, Ryan.” 

“I’ll miss you too, Mom.”

We talked for a little while later, and then I hung up and stared up at the ceiling. Patrick was packing up his belongings, since even he was heading home for the weekend. “You know, Patrick, Chicago is so two years ago,” I said. He glared at me and continued packing. 

What would I do for Thanksgiving? I had so many wonderful friends at Kale, but they were all going home. I didn’t want to be alone, even though there didn’t seem to be any other option. What else could I do? How could I avoid being lonely when everyone was abandoning me? 

I took out my phone and logged into my Kale email account. I saw that I had an email from Andy Hurley, so I opened it. 

To: _rross21@kale.edu, hwilliams21@kale.edu, lsong21@kale.edu, pstump21@kale.edu, jtrohman21@kale.edu, and 219 others_  
From: _ahurley21@kale.edu_  
Subject: _Thanksgiving_

_Hey everyone!_

_Since many of us (including me) will not be able to return home this Thanksgiving, I would like to have a Thanksgiving celebration here at Flack Hall. We will be celebrating in the Flack Hall basement starting at 6:00 PM, but we will be preparing food all day - please help if you can!_

_Please reply to this email to let me know if you are coming to our Thanksgiving feast. If you are coming, please send ideas for (vegan) foods that we can make, and let me know if you are bringing someone who does not live in Flack Hall. Freshmen living in the Freshmen Quad, upperclassmen, and friends from other schools are all welcome!_

_Thank you and have a great Thanksgiving!  
Andy Hurley _

Before I could finish typing out a reply, a number of other students living in Flack Hall responded to Andy’s email. 

To: _ahurley21@kale.edu_  
From: _pstump21@kale.edu_  
Cc: _rross21@kale.edu_  
Subject: _Re: Thanksgiving_

_Hi Andy!_

_I’m going back to Chicago for Thanksgiving. By the way, Chicago is definitely not so two years ago._

_Thanks for the invitation, and happy Thanksgiving!  
Patrick Stump_

To: _ahurley21@kale.edu_  
From: _hwilliams21@kale.edu_  
Cc: _rross21@kale.edu, lsong21@kale.edu, pstump21@kale.edu, jtrohman21@kale.edu, and 219 others_  
Subject: _Re: Thanksgiving_

_Hi Andy!_

_I’m packing my bags for Tennessee right now, so I won’t be able to come to your party. I hope you have a great time anyways!_

_Hayley Williams_

To: _ahurley21@kale.edu_  
From: _lsong21@kale.edu_  
Cc: _rross21@kale.edu, pstump21@kale.edu, jtrohman21@kale.edu, hwilliams@kale.edu, and 219 others_  
Subject: _Re: Thanksgiving_

_What’s a Thanksgiving?_

Even after reading everyone else’s responses, I had no idea how to reply to Andy’s email. I definitely wanted to go, but I didn’t know what food to bring or if there was anyone else that I wanted to take with me. My first thought was that I wanted Brendon to come too, but I thought that he might already have plans. However, there was no harm in asking him. 

That night at the Aubergine, I asked Brendon if he had any plans for Thanksgiving. He simply laughed and said, “All of my family members live two thousand miles away and probably don’t want to see me. Of course I don’t have plans.” 

“Do you want to come to Flack Hall for Thanksgiving?” I asked him. 

“Sure, why not?” Brendon said. “I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you, Ryan.” 

“We’re going to have to bring food though,” I said. “Do you have any ideas?” 

“How about Rocky Road ice cream?” Brendon suggested. 

“The guy who’s organizing this is a vegan,” I said. 

“Vegan Rocky Road ice cream?” Brendon said. 

“Does that even exist?” Brendon shrugged. “I suppose we can Google it later. I’m just glad you’re coming.” 

“I’m excited too,” Brendon said. He gave me one of those smiles that just made me melt inside, and that was when I knew that this was going to be a truly amazing Thanksgiving. 

On Thanksgiving Day, I tried to sleep in, but shortly before noon, I heard someone knocking on my door, and I couldn’t tell who it was. Patrick was gone already, so it couldn’t be him. It was odd living in Room 27 without him, but I knew that he would return soon. 

_Who could it be?_ I wondered as I rolled out of bed and opened up the door. “Hey Ryan,” Brendon said. “Are you ready to make some vegan Rocky Road ice cream?” 

“I wasn’t aware that vegan Rocky Road was a real thing,” I said. 

“Apparently it is,” Brendon said. “I found an easy recipe for it online, and all of the ingredients are already in the kitchen.” 

“Alright Brendon,” I said. The two of us headed out of my dorm and went downstairs to the kitchen, where a large group of Kale students was already hard at work. Brendon pulled a pint of non-dairy vanilla ice cream out of the freezer, along with some cocoa powder and non-dairy chocolate. 

“What are you making?” Joe asked as he looked away from the garlic bread that he was working on. 

“We’re making vegan Rocky Road ice cream,” I said as I searched for a package of vegan marshmallows. 

“That’s so cool!” Joe exclaimed. “I can’t wait to try some.” 

“Me neither,” I said. 

“Uh...Ryan?” Brendon said. “I might have screwed up the recipe a little bit.” 

“What did you do?” I asked. I looked back towards him, and he was splattered with chocolate ice cream. Despite all of his virtues, Brendon Urie clearly had no idea how to operate a food processor. 

“We might need to buy some more chocolate,” Brendon said sheepishly. 

After Brendon got himself cleaned up, the two of us left to buy some more vegan chocolate from the grocery store in the middle of town. On our way there, I got a text from Gerard. 

“I think my brother joined a cult,” the text read. 

“What makes you think that?” I texted back. It didn’t surprise me that Mikey was evil enough to join a cult, but I still wanted an explanation. 

“He mentioned some Society of the Semicolon that he’s in,” Gerard said. “Doesn’t that sound like a cult?” 

“It does,” I admitted. 

“I’m investigating this, but I’d love to know why my parents aren’t mad at Mikey for joining a cult at Yale, but they’re mad at me for spending a good chunk of the family fortune on the Greek Friendship Society house,” Gerard said. “I’ll keep you posted.” 

“Who are you texting?” Brendon asked me. 

“Gerard,” I answered. “He was just telling me about how his brother joined some cult called the Society of the Semicolon.” 

“That sounds more like a Yale secret society than a cult,” Brendon said. 

“What’s the difference?” I asked. 

Brendon shrugged and then asked, “Ryan, have I given you my phone number yet?” 

“I don’t think so,” I said. 

“I should do that,” Brendon said. He then told me his number, which I put into my phone. I sent him a quick text, and Brendon’s phone buzzed. 

“Why am I texting you when you’re right next to me?” Brendon read. “Ryan, that’s a great question, but I think only you can answer that one.” 

Brendon and I arrived at the grocery store, purchased the vegan chocolate, and returned to Flack Hall. On my way home, Brendon asked, “Ryan, you don’t believe what Dallon said the other day, right?” 

“Of course not,” I said. 

“I was just making sure,” Brendon said. “He’s such a liar.” 

I would be a fool to believe someone like Dallon. He had betrayed Brendon by lying about him to me, and I just couldn’t trust someone like that. Dallon was the worst sort of person there was. I didn’t want to be associated with him in any way. 

My phone buzzed, and when I pulled it out, I saw that I had another text from Gerard. “Apparently the Society of the Semicolon isn’t a cult,” he texted. “Mikey told Mom and Dad about it, and apparently it’s a secret society that Mom was in when she was at Yale. She’s very proud of Mikey for joining. There’s apparently also a Society of the Exclamation Point, and both of them started up as a result of a punctuation dispute fifty years ago.” 

“Glad to hear that Mikey isn’t a cult,” I replied. I then texted Patrick, “How’s your Thanksgiving going?” He didn’t respond to me. 

I shoved my phone back into my pocket as Brendon and I approached Flack Hall once again. We returned to the kitchen, where we managed to make vegan Rocky Road ice cream without spilling it all over ourselves. However, Brendon did eat copious amounts of the ice cream before we even got a chance to serve it. 

“What can I say?” Brendon said as he stuffed his mouth with dessert. “It’s delicious!” 

A few hours later, Thanksgiving at Flack Hall truly began. We ate dishes from all over the world, along with a few traditional favorites. All of the food was tasty, but the ice cream that Brendon and I had made was by far the best dish. 

Throughout the meal, Brendon was the social butterfly of the group, chatting with all the residents of Flack Hall. It was an incredible night, eating and socializing with some of my closest friends. However, all good things must come to an end, and our Thanksgiving celebration was no exception. I enveloped him in a hug just before he walked out the door, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before I would see him again. 

On the last day of Thanksgiving break, something magical happened. When I woke up, I looked out the window and saw that the Kale University campus had been transformed overnight. All of the buildings were coated in a thin layer of fresh, white snow. 

I never gave a damn about the weather, but I had never seen anything like this before. Beautiful things like this never happened in Las Vegas. Was this some sort of miracle, or did snow fall all the time in Old Haven? Who or what was responsible for this glorious day? 

I couldn’t stop myself from throwing on my coat, running outside, and just standing in the snow with my arms outstretched, letting the snowflakes fall on me. It was a lovely feeling, and although it may seem strange, it felt right. If it felt right, didn’t that make it right? 

I spotted a small group of people approaching Flack Hall. When I got a closer look, I saw that it was Patrick and his parents. “Ryan?” Patrick said as he hauled his suitcases into the residence hall. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just appreciating the snow,” I said. 

“Snow isn’t something to be appreciated. It’s just a pain to drive in.” 

“I think that snow is beautiful, but I suppose that beauty can be subjective sometimes,” I said. “How was your Thanksgiving break?” 

“I spent most of it applying for an internship,” Patrick said. 

“Where’s the internship?” I asked. 

“It’s at the Old Haven Veterinary Hospital,” Patrick replied. 

“That’s neat,” I said. “I hope you get it.”

“Me too,” Patrick said. “Wait a second. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” He suddenly turned away from me and dragged his remaining suitcases into Flack Hall. 

It was clear from my experiences during Thanksgiving break that I had plenty to be thankful for: snow, friends, family, vegan Rocky Road ice cream, and Brendon Urie. I didn’t know who or what to thank for all of these lovely things, but I did know that they made my life worth living. As my first year at Kale continued, I knew that I had to keep the people and things that I loved by my side at all costs, because they were what made being at Kale special.


	19. How much pizza can four people eat in a single night?

Before I knew it, another month went by, and I wondered why time went by so quickly like that. Wasn’t there some way to slow it down? I wanted to stop and enjoy each moment, but they kept flying past me, like the snowflakes that had become a familiar sight on the Kale campus. At this rate, my life would be over before I knew it, and I would never have a chance to truly reflect on it. 

Throughout that month, the same thing happened day after day. I woke up, went to each of my classes, occasionally attended a Guyliner Club meeting, did my homework, went to the Aubergine early, chatted with Brendon for a while, played the piano, and then went to bed. I never spoke to Patrick, even though we shared the same dorm. Despite the repetitive nature of my daily routine, I loved it. I enjoyed talking and flirting with Brendon every night, and although I missed speaking with Patrick, I had other friends that made up for the loss. My life was going just fine.

In mid-December, finals arrived. Knowing that my mother expected a satisfactory GPA, I tried my best to study as much as I could. However, that was especially difficult in Advanced Piano Studies. 

A few days before final exams began, Professor Leopold came into my practice room to check on me. I was working on the set of études that he had assigned me, but he glared at me when he entered the room. “Ryan, what are you doing?!” he asked. 

“I’m just practicing,” I said. 

“You are massacring Liszt's great piano études!” Professor Leopold exclaimed. “Are you even reading the music?” 

“I’m reading it,” I said as I took a closer look at the sheet music. The music was difficult, but I thought that I was playing it correctly. 

“Clearly you’re not,” Professor Leopold said. “Those notes are marked as marcato.” 

“I’m playing them that way,” I said. 

“No, you’re not,” Professor Leopold said. “They need to be more separated.” 

“Alright,” I said. I attempted to play the piece again, tripping over some of the faster notes. Although there were plenty of errors, I did play the étude in the style that my professor wanted. 

“Not quite, Ryan,” Professor Leopold. “You missed almost every note there, and your articulations still aren’t correct.” 

“Seriously?” I shouted. I played through the piece again, but every time I saw a marcato marking, I played it as long as possible, just to annoy my professor. I just couldn’t stand a man like him. Was there any meaning in a tiny dash of ink of a page of sheet music? I didn’t think there was, but perhaps I’m not the one who gets to decide things like that. On the other hand, maybe I could decide for myself what a marcato marking meant. 

“Are you even trying, Ryan?” Professor Leopold said. “That sounded horrendous. If you played that way on your final, I would have no choice but to fail you.” 

That was when I picked up my packet of sheet music and threw it across the room. “I’m done with this class!” I screamed. “I’m not taking it again next semester!” 

I knew I was acting childishly, but I couldn’t help myself. Rage flowed through me as Professor Leopold shrugged and left the room. As I watched him walk out the door, I swore that I would never again take a music class. Philosophy was my one true love, not music, so why was I even bothering with a classical piano course? All it was doing was bringing my GPA down. 

That day, I stormed back to Flack Hall, still angry at Professor Leopold for his constant criticisms and angry at myself for taking that class in the first place. I crashed down onto my bed and immediately got started on my paper on Leonhard Euler for Great People of Mathematics. A few minutes later, Patrick entered the dorm room, carrying a biology textbook. 

“Hi Ryan,” Patrick said. I raised my eyebrows, surprised that he was speaking to me at all. “You look like you’re in a bit of a bad mood. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just mad at my piano professor,” I said. 

“What happened?” Patrick asked. 

“He won’t stop nagging me about this piece that I’m playing,” I said. “I’m just worried that I’m going to fail that class.” 

“Why are you even taking it?” Patrick asked. 

“I don’t know, but I know I’m not taking it again,” I said. 

“It’s better to take classes that you actually like,” Patrick said. “I’m definitely taking Principles of Ecology next semester. I heard from someone in the Cookie Baking Club that it’s a fun class.” 

“I’m sure it is fun,” I said. “I still need to get a science class into my schedule next semester. I haven’t finished that requirement yet.” 

“Why don’t you take Principles of Ecology?” Patrick suggested. “It doesn’t have any prerequisites.” 

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Why are you even talking to me, Patrick? I thought you hated me.” 

“I don’t hate you, Ryan,” Patrick said. “I was mad at you, but I’ve missed talking to you.” 

“I’ve missed talking to you too,” I admitted. It did feel nice to be able to talk to Patrick again. Perhaps we would be able to mend our friendship one day. 

“Why don’t we just forget about all of this?” Patrick said. “You know, Andy, Joe, and I were talking about trying the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge the night before finals. Would you like to join us?” 

“What’s the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge?” I asked. 

“How have you never heard of the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge?” Patrick asked. “It’s a Kale tradition.” 

“I’ve never heard of it,” I said. 

“It’s a competition that takes place the night before finals to see who can eat the most pizza between sunset and sunrise,” Patrick explained. “Apparently Pete Wentz wins every year, but it might be different this year.” 

“That sounds cool,” I said. “I’ll do it with you guys.” 

“Awesome,” Patrick said. “We’ll meet you in Willoughby Library.” 

The night before finals, after my show at the Aubergine, I crunched my way through the snow and headed into the library, where Patrick, Joe, and Andy were waiting. “Hi there, Ryan,” Joe said as I sat next to him. “I’m so glad you’re here. Have you figured out what that Emily Dickinson poem on the study guide was about?” 

“Not yet,” I admitted. 

“Maybe you’ll figure it out after you have a slice of pizza,” Andy said as he passed me a box of vegan pizza. I took a slice and savored the taste for a moment before returning to the Freshman Writing Seminar study guide. 

“My seminar professor gave us the same study guide, and I’m pretty sure that poem is about death,” Patrick noted. 

“No, that’s far too simple,” Joe argued. “I’m pretty sure it’s about dark matter.” 

“Dark matter hadn’t been proposed yet when Emily Dickinson was alive,” Andy said. 

“What if time isn’t linear?” Joe said. “People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually - from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff."

“I think you’ve been watching too much Doctor Who, Joe,” I concluded. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Joe asked. 

“Perhaps not,” I said. “However, excluding the possibility that Emily Dickinson met a time traveler at some point, I think that Patrick’s interpretation is correct.” 

“Thank you, Ryan,” Patrick said. “Maybe we can finally move on from this silly argument and look at the next question on the study guide.” 

“Then again, who can say whether Emily Dickinson met a time traveler or not?” I said. “If time is linear, then we can safely say that she didn’t because time travel isn’t possible, but if it isn’t linear, then we could go back in time to check, but that in itself would cause Emily Dickinson to meet a time traveler. Therefore, it would be simple to find out, but it would be much more difficult to prove the nature of time...you know, thinking about time travel makes my head hurt.” 

“Why don’t you have some more pizza, Ryan?” Patrick said as he handed me another slice. 

The four of us stayed up until dawn, ordering more and more pizza until our stomachs were ready to explode. However, with the help of my friends, I felt well prepared for my exams. 

Around 7:30 in the morning, I was so exhausted and stuffed with pizza that I took a break from my studies and dragged myself into the dining hall for a cup of coffee. I found Gerard and Pete waiting in line in front of me, and I asked both of them, “Did you guys do the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge too?” 

Gerard and Pete both nodded. “I didn’t eat that much though,” Gerard said. “I don’t know why I did it, other than because it’s a Kale tradition.” 

“I think I might have won it,” Pete said. 

“How many pizzas did you eat?” I asked. 

“Forty three,” Pete answered. 

“You must be joking,” I said. “That’s not possible.” 

“It is possible,” Pete said. “I have the empty pizza boxes in Shadow Hall if you want proof.” 

I wasn’t sure that I believed Pete’s claim, but there were a few other students that I ran into who claimed that they had seen him eat all forty three pizzas. Since nobody else on campus claimed to have beaten that number, Pete Wentz became the official winner of the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge. My friends and I may have lost, but it was worth it to know that I had them by my side. 

In the end, my final grades were good, but not great, and that was enough for me. I did quite well in Introduction to Philosophy, I had mediocre grades in Great People of Mathematics and the Freshman Writing Seminar, and I barely passed Advanced Piano Studies. They weren’t the best grades in the world, but if I did better during second semester, I might be able to bring my GPA back up. 

Unlike Thanksgiving break, I had enough time and money to go home for winter break. It would be nice to see my mother, but what else would I leave behind? I wouldn’t see my dorm room, Patrick, my professors, the Guyliner Club, the gorgeous, snow-covered campus, the Aubergine, or Brendon for three whole weeks. Just thinking about all of the people and things that I wouldn’t see over Winter Break was enough to dampen my spirits. 

That night, I went to the Aubergine one last time before my flight back to Las Vegas the next morning. As usual, Brendon was waiting for me with a peach and lime daiquiri in his hand. I definitely had to say goodbye to him before I left. After all, he was the one who had helped me live a life from a new perspective. “Hey Ryan,” Brendon said. “What’s up?” 

“Not much,” I said. “I’ll probably have to go home a little early tonight.” 

“Why?” Brendon asked.

“I have to pack up for my flight tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going back to Las Vegas for winter break.” 

“That’s too bad,” Brendon said. “I wish you were staying here.” 

“I wish that you were coming with me.” 

“Maybe I’ll do that for Spring Break.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. I sat down on the piano bench and began to warm up. “Is there anything that you’d like to hear, Brendon?” 

“Bohemian Rhapsody!” he exclaimed. 

“I played that last time I took a request from you, and I didn’t do a particularly good job,” I said.

“I still want to hear it,” Brendon insisted. 

I shrugged and began to play the song, and within a few bars, both of us were singing along. Brendon’s voice sounded far better than mine, but it was still an incredible experience. I listened carefully, in love with the sweet sound of Brendon’s voice, and all of a sudden, I forgot about my grades and final exams. All I could think about was how much I would miss the beautiful man in a glittery suit standing next to me.


	20. What is home?

The next morning, Patrick and I both packed our remaining bags and got onto a taxi headed for the airport. “I can’t wait to go back to Chicago,” Patrick told me as he shoved a duffel bag into the back of the taxi. “As much as I love Old Haven, Chicago will always be my city.” 

“I think I like Old Haven a little bit better than Las Vegas,” I said. 

“Why?” Patrick asked while we both climbed into the back of the taxi and fastened our seat belts. 

“The people here are better,” I said. 

“That’s so nice of you to say,” Patrick said, smiling. 

It was the truth, because telling a lie in this situation would make no sense. There were more people that I liked in Old Haven than in Las Vegas, although I did miss my mother. 

The taxi driver took us to the airport, but when we got there, Patrick and I had to go our separate ways. The airport wasn’t particularly large, especially when compared with the airport in Las Vegas, but I still found it quite easy to get disoriented. As I made my way through registration and security, I was surrounded by people, but I felt as if I was alone. At Kale, I always had a few friends around me, but here, I didn’t know anyone. The isolation was terrifying, since there was no distraction to mask what was real. 

Before long, I was on my way home, but could I call Las Vegas home anymore? I had spent over four months in Old Haven, and in some ways, Kale University felt more like home than Las Vegas ever had, even after eighteen years of living there. I wasn’t a permanent resident, and I had no particular attachment to the city, so there was no reason for me to think of Las Vegas as my home. 

I spent the plane ride to Las Vegas staring out the window, wondering how much longer was left in the plane ride, what the clouds did all day to entertain themselves, and whether my mom was at the airport yet. As usual, there was a crying toddler sitting directly behind me who seemed to enjoy kicking the back of my seat. Why do we derive amusement from others’ suffering, even as children? The world could be so cruel sometimes.

After nearly five hours in an airplane with an obnoxious toddler and a brainless in-flight movie, I got off of the plane and was greeted by the slot machines that were ubiquitous in my hometown. I had never paid much attention to them as a child, but after spending several months in a place where gambling was illegal, they seemed out of place. 

I proceeded to baggage claim as I was bombarded with ads for all of the things that I could do during my stay in Las Vegas. I felt like a tourist in my hometown - it was as if I was an East Coast college kid going to Las Vegas for a quick vacation instead of a boy raised in the Vegas lights coming home to visit his family. Then again, perhaps I could be both at the same time. 

I found my mother waiting for me next to the baggage claim. “Ryan!” she shouted. I rushed over to her and gave her a hug, and she held me tightly as she said, “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” I said. 

“It’s great to see you again,” Mom asked. “How has everything been going at Kale University? I already saw your grades, and I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thanks,” I said. “Can you please let me get my suitcase?” 

Mom laughed and said, “Of course.” 

I grabbed my suitcase from the baggage claim, and then Mom drove me back to her apartment. On the way there, she asked me all kinds of questions about Kale, and I tried my best to answer them. “Tell me about the clubs that you’re in,” Mom said. “Did you join all of the ones that you told me you were going to?” 

“Not all of them,” I said. “I got pretty caught up in the Guyliner Club.” 

“What exactly do you do in the Guyliner Club?” 

“We wear guyliner.”

“I knew that!” Mom exclaimed. “What else do you do?” 

“We meet every other Tuesday, and we give each other makeup tips and talk about our lives,” I said. “There are four other people in the club - Frank, Gerard, Laura, and Pete - and they’re all super cool.” 

“I’m so glad you’ve made friends at Kale, Ryan,” Mom said. “How are things going with your roommate?” 

“We got into a bit of a fight, but it’s getting better,” I said. 

“What was the fight about?” Mom asked. 

“Patrick was just mad at me because I kept coming home late from my job,” I said. 

“Ryan, you know that you shouldn’t be out too late,” Mom said. “It could be dangerous, and you’re losing sleep that way.” 

“I’m sorry, Mom, but it wasn’t like I was going to get much sleep anyways,” I said. “Patrick used to wake me up at five o’clock in the morning by blasting Elvis Costello in my ears.” 

“That’s horrible!” Mom exclaimed. “My poor baby shouldn’t have to deal with that.” 

“He stopped doing it,” I said. “The Greek Friendship Society still keeps me up sometimes, but I’ve been sleeping a lot better since he stopped.” 

“You know, you could always transfer to one of the local universities,” Mom said. 

“I think I’m doing just fine at Kale,” I said as I stared out the window. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be home all summer.” 

“I can’t wait for that,” Mom said. “It’s been so lonely without you.” 

I looked out onto the land surrounding the highway, which was nothing but barren rock with the Strip’s massive hotels and casinos looming in the distance. I could never live here again, especially after spending so much time in Old Haven. The Nevada desert was nothing compared to a small New England town like Old Haven, and besides, most of the people I cared about were in Connecticut. 

Less than an hour later, Mom pulled up to our apartment building, and we took the elevator up to the apartment that had been my home for eighteen years. I was glad to see that Mom had made me all of my favorite foods in honor of my visit, but something felt off. I suspected that it was because it was nine in the afternoon, and I wasn’t at the Aubergine. 

Despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten since I had left Old Haven, I didn’t have much of an appetite. I took a few small bites of Mom’s food, and I then told her that I was feeling a little bit jet lagged, which was true. The jetset life is going to kill you, after all. 

I stumbled into my old bedroom and crashed onto the bed. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as my dorm room, but it was a little larger, and I didn’t have to deal with Patrick’s snoring. Within a few minutes, I was fast asleep, dreaming of my friends back at Kale. 

The next morning, my mother asked me an odd question. As she was making me a stack of pancakes, she asked, “Ryan, have you met any cute boys at Kale?” 

I’ve never properly come out to my mom, but sometime between the time when I asked her to buy eyeliner for me and the day one of the boys in my English class came to our apartment after homecoming during my freshman year of high school, she figured out that I was gay. It wasn’t like I was exactly trying to hide my sexual orientation, but it had never been out in the open like this. Nevertheless, I tried to give her an honest answer. “There’s this cute guy that I work with,” I said. 

“That’s sweet,” Mom said. “What’s his name?” 

“Brendon Urie,” I answered, and my heart fluttered as I said his name. No matter what Dallon said, there was no way that he and I would end up together. However, that didn’t stop me from liking him. 

“Brendon Urie,” Mom repeated. “I’ve heard that name before.” 

“You must be mistaken,” I said. “Maybe you’re confusing him with someone else.” 

“No, I’ve definitely heard that name before,” Mom said. “I don’t know where I’ve heard it, but I’ve heard it.” 

How did my mom know Brendon Urie? Mom had lived in Las Vegas for almost all of her life, and Brendon lived on the other side of the country. It seemed impossible for them to have met. Perhaps Mom was confusing Brendon with someone else. On the other hand, it was a distinctive name. “Brendon Urie” was the sort of name that most people remembered. 

“So what’s this Brendon Urie like?” Mom asked. “Maybe if you start describing him, then you’ll jog my memory.” 

I came back to the same problem that I had experienced for the last several months - Brendon was impossible to describe. I could talk about him as much as I wanted to, but I would never capture the essence of who he was. Despite these obstacles, I told my mother about his beautiful voice, his enthusiastic and energetic nature, and how gorgeous he looked in those sparkly suits. 

“I still can’t figure out where I know him from,” Mom said as I finished up my pancakes and headed back to my room. “Maybe it will come to me later.” 

The next three weeks passed by far too slowly for my taste. Everything seemed to remind me of why I had left Las Vegas in the first place. It didn’t feel like home anymore, and before long, I was homesick for Kale University. 

Christmas and New Year’s Day came and went. Mom and I spent Christmas together, along with a handful of other relatives. The food was tasty, but I couldn’t bring myself to truly appreciate the holiday. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the religious aspect of Christmas, and if there was no place like home for the holidays, then I wanted to be at Kale. I did get a few presents from my friends at Kale, mostly in the form of junk food that my relatives refused to buy me. Brendon even sent me a carton of homemade vegan Rocky Road ice cream. Most of the ice cream had melted by the time it arrived, but it was the thought that counted. 

On New Year’s Eve, my mom and I stayed up until midnight, mostly to celebrate the two of us making it through 2017. After New Year’s, I stayed in Las Vegas for another week and a half before packing my bags again to go back to Old Haven, my real home. 

My flight back to Kale ended up having two connections, one in Chicago and one in Philadelphia. I was lucky enough to have Patrick with me for most of the flight, and we ended up switching seats just so that we could be next to each other. He told me all of the wonderful Chicago landmarks that he had re-visited during his vacation, but the only landmarks I wanted to see were a statue of M.C. Moneybags and the gates to Kale University.


	21. How does change happen?

It wasn’t long before I found myself at Kale once again, ready to face whatever second semester would bring. Even before making it to Flack Hall, I spotted all of my favorite people. Patrick was by my side as I dragged my suitcase back to my residence hall, and I walked past Joe, Andy, and Hayley hanging out in the dining hall. Gerard and Frank were in front of the Greek Friendship Society house, welcoming the other members of Delta Omicron Gamma back to campus. I ran into Laura while I was buying my textbooks, and Pete was sitting on a bench outside of the Shufflebottom Center, eating a slice of pizza and playing with his fidget spinner. The only person who was missing was Brendon, but if I didn’t see him during the day, then I would surely see him at night. 

I crunched through the snow until I made it to Flack Hall, where I found a few other freshmen returning from winter break. I hauled my suitcase upstairs, making sure that I wouldn’t slip and fall like I had when I was moving into this dorm for the first time. I took slow, careful steps, and I made it to the top with all of my stuff without tumbling down to the bottom. 

I took all of that as proof that I had changed as a person over the last semester. If I was the same person that I was at the beginning of the year, I would have fallen down the stairs again and lay there on the first floor, waiting for Patrick to rescue me. Instead, my college experiences had made me stronger, so that I could mount those stairs without any problems at all. 

After we both unpacked our suitcases, I pulled up the Course Catalog on my phone and asked Patrick, “Do you know what you’re taking yet?” 

“I think so,” Patrick said. “I still need to discuss it with my adviser though.” 

“Me too, but I can’t decide which science class to take.” I already knew that I was going to take Morals, Values, and Ethics, Ancient Philosophy, and Public Policy, but I also had to fulfill the science requirement. There were too many science classes at Kale, and I couldn’t figure out which one would be best for a philosophy major who knew nothing about the subject.

“I’m taking Inorganic Chemistry II and Principles of Ecology,” Patrick said. “Maybe you can try one of those.” 

“I can’t be in Inorganic Chemistry II when I haven’t taken Inorganic Chemistry I.”

“You’re right,” Patrick said. “Principles of Ecology doesn’t have any prerequisites though, and I heard that Andy’s taking it this semester. Maybe you’ll have one of us in your class.” 

“I’ll do that then.” I looked at the clock and saw that it was time for my meeting with my adviser. “I should go,” I told Patrick. 

“See you soon, Ryan,” Patrick said. 

I climbed down the stairs again and walked to the Shufflebottom Center, trying not to slip on the ice that covered the sidewalks. A few minutes later, I made it to the Shufflebottom Center, where Professor Romero was waiting for me. 

“You’re Ryan Ross, right?” I nodded, and he said, “Come on in.” 

I entered Professor Romero’s office and took a seat while he pulled up some information on his computer. “I see that you’ve successfully completed Introduction to Philosophy, Great People of Mathematics, Advanced Piano Studies, and your Freshman Writing Seminar.” 

“That is correct,” I said. 

“I also see that you are planning to major in philosophy,” Professor Romero said. “Do you realize that it is practically impossible to get a job with a philosophy degree?” 

I glared at my adviser and said, “For the record, I have a job.” 

Professor Romero rolled his eyes and said, “If you are interested in continuing in this field, I would recommend beginning your history of philosophy sequence and taking at least one other philosophy course. What would you like to take?” 

“I’d like to take Ancient Philosophy and Morals, Values, and Ethics,” I said. 

“You were interested in Metaphysics last time we spoke,” Professor Romero said. “What changed?” 

“I thought that I wanted to know what was real and what wasn’t, but I realized that none of that matters if I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong,” I said. “If my life is real, and there’s no way to know that for sure, then I need to know how to live it to the fullest…” 

“I really shouldn’t ask you questions anymore,” Professor Romero said. “Anyways, you should also get a few more of your general education requirements finished. Your Freshman Writing Seminar, humanities courses, and math course are complete, but you still have two social science courses and a science course to take.” 

“I’ll take Public Policy and Principles of Ecology,” I said. 

“Both of those are excellent choices, although I would always recommend another math class just for fun,” Professor Romero said. “Since you took Advanced Piano Studies last semester, you could try Piano Performance Theory this semester.” 

“I’m not interested,” I said. 

“That’s fine,” Professor Romero said. “Are there any other classes that you’d like to take?” 

“I think that’s all,” I said. 

“Excellent,” Professor Romero said. “I’ll see you later, Ryan.” 

“Bye, Professor Romero,” I said as I left his office.

In the end, I was happy with my new classes. I would get to learn about philosophy in two different classes, and Public Policy and Principles of Ecology didn’t sound too bad, especially if Patrick and Andy might be in my class. If I had trouble, they could always help me. The best part of my new schedule was that I would only have to play piano at the Aubergine, and I would never have to have Professor Leopold looking over my shoulder again. 

That night, I went to the Aubergine a little bit early. Brendon grinned when he saw me. “Hey Ryan,” he said. “Did you get the gift that I sent you?” 

“I did get your ice cream,” I said. “It was a little melted, but I loved it anyways. It was so nice of you to send me something.”

Brendon walked to the other side of the room and picked up the brand new microphone that I had sent him as his holiday gift. “Thanks for this, by the way,” Brendon said into the microphone. “I definitely needed a new one. You’re the best.” 

“Brendon, you do not need to tell the entire bar about your holiday gift,” I said. 

“Why not?” Brendon said, still into the microphone. “It’s kind of fun. I feel like I’m the supreme ruler of the Aubergine or something.” 

By that point, everyone in the bar was staring at the two of us. I ducked over to the piano bench and played a few simple chords. Meanwhile, Brendon was busy saying movie quotes into his new microphone and making funny faces. I couldn’t help but laugh a few times.

Eventually, Brendon got bored with playing around and came back to me. “Ryan, what did you do today?” he asked me as he leaned against the piano. 

“I signed up for classes,” I said. 

“Which classes are you taking?” Brendon asked. 

“Ancient Philosophy, Morals, Values, and Ethics, Public Policy, and Principles of Ecology,” I answered. 

“Why didn’t you sign up for theater?” Brendon asked. “I bet you’d enjoy that.” 

“No, that sounds like something you’d like,” I said. 

Brendon smiled and said, “I guess you’re right. I wish that we had some classes together. Then I wouldn’t have to wait until I get to the Aubergine to see you.” 

“It’s not too late to switch your classes around,” I told Brendon. 

“Are you guys talking about your schedules?” Spencer asked as he entered the room. I nodded, and he said, “I’m so excited to take History of Modern Architecture. A few of my friends have said that it’s a tough class, but I can’t wait to take it.” 

“Good luck,” I said. “That sounds hard.” 

“Thanks Ryan,” Spencer said. “Are you two ready to go? It’s almost nine in the afternoon, and we still need to set up the drum set.” 

“I still need to warm up my voice,” Brendon said. 

Spencer rolled his eyes and said, “Ryan? Will you help?” 

“Sure,” I said, and the two of us set up the drum set while Brendon sat in the corner, finishing off his drink and daydreaming. I couldn’t help but wonder what Brendon was thinking so hard about. After all, there were only a few things in the world that could make him float off into space like that. It was a common occurrence for people like me, but I had always thought that Brendon was a little bit more grounded than I was. 

After we set up the drum set, Brendon, Spencer, and I started our show. The microphone that I had bought Brendon made his voice echo throughout the Aubergine, clearer than ever. I accompanied him on the piano, but it was obvious that Brendon was the star of the show. For that night, I was content with being in the background, especially when Brendon had that goofy grin on his face. I told myself that I would do anything to see him smile again. 

The next day, I had to go to both Public Policy and Principles of Ecology, since neither of my philosophy classes were offered on Mondays. As it turned out, Patrick and Andy were both in my class, so I sat between them during the lecture. The three of us decided to be in the same lab group as well, so hopefully the two science majors would be able to help me ace the class. 

I had a break after ecology, while both Patrick and Andy had classes, but I managed to meet up with Patrick for lunch. “How was your class?” I asked him as I devoured a sandwich. 

Patrick groaned and said, “Statistics isn’t that bad, but you wouldn’t believe who’s in it.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Do you remember the guy who stole my hat and glasses and put both of them on the M.C. Moneybags statue last semester?” Patrick said. “He’s in my class, and he sits right behind me.” 

“For the record, his name is Pete Wentz,” I said. 

“How do you know him?” 

“He’s in the Guyliner Club.”

“That explains a lot,” Patrick said. “Anyways, he’s driving me nuts. I told him to stop talking so much in the middle of class, and he told me to ‘turn down the patitude!’ What is wrong with him?” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Did he really say that?” I said. “I’ll have to ask him about that at the next Guyliner Club meeting.” 

Patrick rolled his eyes and kept eating, and the topic of Pete Wentz didn’t come up again for the rest of the day. After lunch, I headed off to the Beiju History Center for my Public Policy class. I had far worse luck with that class than I did with Principles of Ecology. By the end of the lecture, I was completely lost, and none of my classmates were willing to help me. 

Despite my troubles on the first day, I still felt optimistic about my second semester at Kale University. Kale was a magical place, and I couldn’t wait to spend more time there. If the first few days back at school were any indicator, Kale had also changed me for the better. I had met so many wonderful people and had many great experiences, and I already felt like I was becoming a better person. I just couldn’t wait to see where second semester took me.


	22. Do I need to smile?

By the end of the week, I felt as if Public Policy was killing me. My professor had no interest in discussing the philosophical impact of net neutrality, and she definitely didn’t think that the solution to most of the current issues in our society was to have a philosopher king ruling the country, just like in Plato’s “The Republic.” I complained about the class to anyone who would listen, but I did have a few things going for me. My other classes were going well, and I had a steady job and plenty of friends, although Brendon was acting a little strangely. 

One day, after a particularly miserable Public Policy lecture, I walked back to Flack Hall through the snow and ice that covered the campus. I was contemplating dropping the class, since it clearly wasn’t what I thought it would be, but I later decided that would be a bad idea. Most of the other social science classes would likely have similar issues. 

My boots were completely soaked, and I almost slipped on a patch of ice as I approached my residence hall. However, as I got closer, I saw a strange sight. 

Someone had left a bouquet of roses in front of Flack Hall. 

I carefully picked up the bouquet and appreciated the roses’ flowery scent. Then, I searched for a tag to see if they were for anyone in particular. If the roses weren’t for me, then it would be wrong of me to even touch them. Why had I done that anyways? I should have looked for a tag first to see who they were for. 

I found a small tag attached to the bouquet, and my eyes widened as I read it. 

_To Ryan Ross: I think you need to smile._

As it turned out, the roses were for me, but who had sent them? There was no indication anywhere on the bouquet, although I did have my suspicions. I brought the flowers into the residence hall and brushed the snow off of them before I climbed upstairs into my dorm room. I didn’t have anywhere to put the roses, so they simply rested next to my bed. Maybe I would be able to buy a vase for them over the weekend. 

“Where did you get those?” Patrick asked as he briefly looked up from his chemistry textbook. 

“I found them outside of Flack Hall, and the tag said that they were for me,” I said. “I don’t know who sent them though.” 

“It looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, Ryan,” Patrick said. 

“I suppose so,” I said with a smile. Whoever had sent the roses had gotten their wish. 

A part of me wanted to believe that Brendon had sent the roses. Leaving a bouquet of flowers in front of Flack Hall seemed like the sort of thing that he would do, but at the same time, that seemed like wishful thinking. He had never shown any sort of romantic interest in me, and this seemed like a rather romantic gesture. Then again, nobody at Kale seemed interested in me romantically. How could I say for sure who had sent the flowers? 

“Do you have any idea who might have sent them?” I asked Patrick. 

Patrick shook his head. “How would I know?” he asked. “I know I didn’t send it, but it could be anyone else.” 

That didn’t narrow things down very much. I hoped that it was Brendon, but there was no way to be sure of that unless I asked him. The idea terrified me, even though I would have to do it if I wanted to know who sent the roses. In the end, my curiosity and affection for Brendon outweighed my fear, and I told myself that I would talk to Brendon that night. 

A few hours later, I walked to the Aubergine, and I was already starting to regret my decision. What if Brendon didn’t send the roses? What if he didn’t like me at all? What if he hated me for even asking? What if he did send the roses, but it wasn’t meant to be romantic? What if he sent the roses, and he wanted to be with me, but he ended up being a terrible boyfriend? What if he was secretly a squid monster? 

The “what if” questions didn’t leave my mind until I spotted the neon purple sign and entered the Aubergine. My hand was shaking as I pulled the door open. For once, I hoped that Brendon wouldn’t be there at all so that I wouldn’t have to face him, but because I just happen to have horrible luck, Brendon was standing there, waiting for me. 

My heart was thumping against my chest as I made my way towards him. Brendon, on the other hand, was casually sipping his peach and lime daiquiri, as if nothing was unusual or different about this night. _Maybe he didn’t send the roses after all_ , I thought, but if Brendon didn’t send them, then who did? 

“Hey Ryan,” Brendon said with a smile. “What’s up?” 

“I’ve had a strange day today,” I said. 

“What happened?” Brendon asked. 

“I came back to my residence hall after Public Policy, and somebody left me a bouquet of roses,” I said. “The tag said that they were for me, but I don’t know who sent them.” 

“Did they make you smile?” Brendon asked. 

I grinned and said, “They did make me smile.” I looked back at Brendon and saw that his brown eyes were looking directly into mine. “Did...did you send them?” I asked. 

Brendon blushed and said, “Yes, I sent the roses.” 

I didn’t know what to think. Did Brendon like me? If he didn’t, then why had he sent those roses? He did look lonely, but I didn’t think that was the only reason. In the end, I decided to simply say, “Thank you, Brendon. They’re lovely flowers.” 

“You’re welcome,” Brendon said, smiling. “I’m glad you liked them.” There was a brief, awkward moment of silence before Brendon said, “Can I ask you something, Ryan?” 

“Of course,” I said. “Answering questions is one of my great passions in life, along with music, eyeliner, and contemplating my own existence.” 

“RyanRosswillyoupleasegoonadatewithme?” Brendon blurted out. 

“Brendon, you have to speak a little slower,” I said. “I couldn’t understand a word that you just said.” 

Brendon took a deep breath and then said, “Ryan, you are one of my favorite people in the whole world. You’re beautiful and smart and no good for me, but I don’t care because you’re taking me apart like bad glue on a get well card. Will you please go on a date with me?” 

Normally, I think through my answers to questions, but at that moment, I had to go with my instinctual reaction. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I’d love to go out with you, Brendon. When would you like to go on our date?” 

“How about tomorrow?” Brendon asked. 

“I have a meeting with my philosophy professor at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, but after that, I’m free until nine in the afternoon,” I said. 

“How about this?” Brendon suggested. “I’ll pick you up at Flack Hall at four, and we’ll wander around Old Haven for a while. There’s this Thai restaurant downtown where we can have dinner.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” I said. Despite the fact that I had lived in Old Haven for the last several months, I hadn’t seen much of the town surrounding campus. Brendon would be the perfect person to take me on a tour. 

At that moment, Spencer just happened to walk into the Aubergine. “Hey Ryan. Hey Brendon,” he said. “What’s up?” 

I looked towards Brendon, and he gave me a quick shrug, as if he knew the question that I was about to ask. After some thought, I decided not to tell Spencer quite yet. This could stay between Brendon and I for a little bit longer. Besides, what if the date went badly? If that happened, then I would be glad that I hadn’t told Spencer yet. I did have a feeling that the date would go well, but I also knew that I could never predict the future, and my feelings for Brendon were likely clouding my judgment. 

As the three of us prepared for our show, I had to keep myself from floating off into space. The impossible had happened: the objectively beautiful Brendon Urie had asked me out. There was no way that I couldn’t be excited about that. I just had to have some composure for another hour or two, and then I could freak out as much as I wanted when I returned to Flack Hall. Patrick might judge me, but at least I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of Brendon. 

At nine in the afternoon, the show began. Our shows were always magical, but somehow, that performance was even better than usual. Brendon’s voice sounded more beautiful than I ever thought it could, and he stayed perfectly in time with Spencer and I. Even the other people in the Aubergine seemed to notice how well we were playing. 

Everything about that night was just perfect. 

After the show, Brendon and I talked for a little while before he squeezed my hand and said, “See you tomorrow, Ryan.” 

“See you tomorrow, Brendon,” I said as I left the Aubergine. It was freezing outside, but my thoughts of Brendon kept me warm as I walked back to Flack Hall. Was there anything better than this? I wasn’t sure if Heaven and Hell existed, but if they did, then this must be what Heaven felt like. 

I entered Flack Hall again and climbed up to Room 27. As usual, Patrick was resting on his bed, reading a book. He looked up for a moment and said, “You seem a little bit off. Did something happen at the Aubergine Dream?” 

I nodded and said, “Brendon sent me the roses.” 

“That explains a lot.”

“How was your evening?” 

“Nothing happened, really,” Patrick said. “I forgot to tell you, but I got the internship that I applied for.” 

“Are you talking about the one at the Old Haven Veterinary Hospital?” I asked. Patrick nodded, and I said, “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” Patrick said. “I’m starting tomorrow morning.” 

“Have fun,” I told him. 

“I will,” Patrick replied as he put his book away and crashed back onto his bed. I got into bed as well, but I couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t because of the Greek Friendship Society’s party. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of Brendon Urie, and they just wouldn’t go away. It was the best kind of insomnia, and I couldn’t help but smile every time I thought of him.


	23. What is love?

It wasn’t even close to four o’clock when I got home the next day, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my upcoming date with Brendon. Hoping to clear my mind, I pulled out my philosophy textbook and a copy of the complete works of Plato and started working on some homework. Our first unit in Ancient Philosophy was about Plato, although I thought that he was overrated. His works were only proof that gay fanfiction is much older than we think that it is. Socrates was my real hero, but his distaste for writing things down meant that the only way that I could learn more about him was through Plato

My assignment was to read and take notes on The Republic, Apology of Socrates, and Symposium by Tuesday, so we could discuss them in class in the following weeks. I had already read The Republic, so I decided to read Symposium next. I was just cracking the book open when Patrick entered the dorm room.

Patrick didn’t look like himself. His face was unnaturally pale, like he had come down with some sort of nasty illness. “Are you okay?” I asked him as he wearily sat down and opened up a chemistry textbook. 

Patrick muttered something about not being okay and promising something that I couldn’t understand. I figured that he wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I went back to my reading. However, I couldn’t focus. Thoughts of Brendon and my date with him kept flooding my mind, preventing me from paying much attention to the characters’ discussions in the dialogue. As I contemplated my relationship with Brendon and worried about all of the things that could go wrong during our date, one question kept coming back to me. 

Did I love Brendon? 

I definitely liked him a lot. He was my perpetual companion, and often the only person that I wanted around. When we were together, magic happened. However, I wasn’t sure if I loved him or not, if only because I wasn’t sure what love felt like. I had never felt what I felt with Brendon when I was around anyone else, but I wasn’t sure if that was love. If it wasn’t love, then what was it? There was nothing else to compare him to. 

What was love anyways? I had heard so much about it, but until now, I had never experienced it for myself. I didn’t know anything about love, and I definitely couldn’t tell if I loved Brendon or not. 

I decided to continue on with my reading, despite the fact that I hadn’t solved the issue of how I felt about Brendon. As it turned out, Symposium was a dialogue about the very subject that I had been agonizing over: the nature of love. It was a bit complicated, but that was the way I liked my philosophy assignments. Brendon continued to invade my mind, but I tried my best to push him out and focus on my homework. 

About halfway through the dialogue, I found an interesting passage. One of the characters in the dialogue, Aristophanes, proposed that love is a result of the gods splitting humans in two, and humans then searching for their missing half. I read through his speech, and something seemed familiar about all of it. 

_And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side, by side and to say to them, "What do you people want of one another?" they would be unable to explain._

Was Brendon perhaps my missing half? Could that explain my attachment to him? Admittedly, I was taking my theory from a text that was over two thousand years old, but I doubted that the nature of love had changed much since then. Besides, Aristophanes’ speech had described perfectly how I felt about Brendon. I didn’t know what I wanted of him, but I was lost in an amazement of friendship and intimacy and perhaps even love. 

Did this mean that Brendon and I were meant to be together? It was a nice thought. I liked the idea of Brendon and I being written in the stars somehow. I liked the idea of always being with him, no matter what happened to us. I wasn’t sure if it was true, but it was fun to daydream about. 

Perhaps I was going a little bit too far. Brendon and I hadn’t even gone on a date yet, and I was already questioning whether or not he was my soulmate. It was the hopeless romantic in me that wanted to say that we were meant to be, but it was just too early to tell.

“Ryan, can you please be quiet?” Patrick said. “I’m trying to do my homework.” 

That was when I realized that I might have been thinking out loud. “Sorry about that, Patrick,” I said. 

Patrick shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t know you were going on a date with Brendon.” 

“Yeah, I’m going out with him tonight,” I said. “He’s picking me up at four, and we’re going to a Thai restaurant in downtown Old Haven.” 

“Have fun.”

“Thanks.”

“I agree that it’s too early in the relationship for you to be thinking about love though.”

“Maybe, but I really think I might be in love with him.” 

“That’s sweet.”

“Patrick, have you ever been in love?” I asked. 

“I used to think that my real love was taking care of cute animals,” Patrick said. “I’m not so sure anymore.” 

“Why do you think that?” I asked. 

A heartbroken expression covered Patrick’s face before it quickly disappeared. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. 

“Patrick, what happened?” I asked, hoping for a better response this time. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ryan!” Patrick exclaimed. “Leave me alone!” 

I respected Patrick’s wishes, and I returned to my homework. As I finished reading Symposium, I wondered what exactly had made Patrick react like that. What had happened that had destroyed his love for animals? Why couldn’t he talk to me about it? 

I glanced back towards Patrick, who had gone back to working on his chemistry homework. He wiped away his tears with a tissue as he read from the textbook. I had never seen Patrick act like this before, so something must have happened to him during that internship. He had been so excited about it the night before - what could have happened to make him change his mind? I couldn’t think of anything that could have happened in a few hours at a veterinary office that could do that, but I also knew that I couldn’t solve Patrick’s problems for him, so I decided to focus on an entirely different predicament. I still had a date that night, and I still had no idea how to prepare for it. 

I closed my book, put away my notes, and looked through my closet. I wasn’t sure what Brendon would like, so I picked out a collared shirt, a pair of black pants, and my warmest jacket, because it was freezing outside. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror and noticed that something was missing. After some thought, I decided that I needed some eyeliner. I rummaged through my makeup and quickly applied some eyeliner. Then, I threw on the first pair of shoes that I could find and waited by the door. Patrick was still working on his homework, and I watched the clock as the minutes went by and my anxiety only grew. What if something went wrong? What if I lost my chance at being with the man that I loved? I seemed like the sort of person who would screw up something like this, and as I waited, I became more and more certain that I would lose Brendon. 

To ease my worries, I took out my phone and popped in a pair of earbuds so I could listen to The Beatles. As the familiar melody of “Across The Universe” played, I relaxed slightly. I was still a little nervous, but I could take a few deep breaths without thinking of the many ways in which this date could go wrong. 

Four o’clock came and went, and a new question arose in my mind. What if Brendon didn’t show up at all? Maybe Brendon didn’t love me like he did yesterday, and he was about to break my heart. As the seconds ticked by, I became more and more worried that Brendon might not come. 

After six minutes had passed, I finally heard a knock on my door. I opened the door, and Brendon was standing there with a bouquet of roses. He had a huge smile on his face, and he was wearing the same sparkly gold suit that he wore when we met for the first time. “Hi Ryan,” he said as he gave me the roses. “You look cute today.” 

“Thanks, so do you,” I said. I put the roses in a vase with the other bouquet that he had given me and then returned to the doorway. “Are you ready to go?” I asked him. 

“I’m ready to go!” Brendon sang. I laughed, and as we walked out the door, he said, “I might use that in a song someday.” 

That was the start of a night that would change my life.


	24. How do you pronounce "caricature?"

It began to snow again just as Brendon and I left Flack Hall. He looked up for a moment and then said, “You know, when I first moved here, I thought snow was the most beautiful thing in the world,” Brendon said. “Now it’s just kind of annoying.” 

“I think it’s magical,” I said as I followed Brendon off campus and into the heart of Old Haven. I had lived in town since August, but I had never paid much attention to it. Usually, I stayed within the boundaries of the Kale campus, with the exception of my daily trips to the Aubergine. As it turned out, Old Haven was an adorable little town, especially in the winter. There were all sorts of small shops and houses lining the streets, and the snow accentuated the town’s folksy charm. Old Haven was the opposite of Las Vegas, with its flashing lights and sweltering heat, and that was what I loved about it. “I feel like I’m in a postcard,” I told Brendon. 

“Me too, but I think that might just be because you’re here,” Brendon said as he gave me a smile. “Where do you want to go first?” 

I looked around at all of the places where Brendon and I could go, and it was all a little overwhelming. “How about the smoothie shop across the street?” I suggested. 

“It’s too cold for that,” Brendon said. “I do have some great memories there though.” 

“Tell me about it,” I said to Brendon as I came a little bit closer to him. 

“I worked there before I got my job at the Aubergine. I used to sing to customers for tips.” 

“That’s so cute.”

“I don’t know about that. There were some people who didn’t like it. Mostly the other employees.” 

“They were just jealous of how many tips you were getting.”

Brendon laughed and said, “I doubt that. There’s a really cool record store next to the smoothie shop though.” 

“Let’s go there,” I said. 

“Alright,” Brendon said. “I’ll race you there.” All of a sudden, Brendon sprinted across the street, and I tried to catch up with him. Brendon had quite a bit of a head start, but nevertheless, I almost beat him. Both of us were out of breath by the time we made it into the record store. 

“Congratulations, Brendon,” I said as I tried to catch my breath. “You beat me.” 

“You’re faster than I thought you were, Ryan,” Brendon said. 

We both took a second to catch our breath, and then we walked into the record store. “Wait a second, is that a Queen record?” Brendon said as soon as we were inside. He ran off to the other end of the store, and I followed him. By the time I caught up with him, however, he was looking at musical soundtracks. When he ran over to the hip hop section, I just gave up. Brendon’s music taste was just as eclectic as he had claimed, while I was alone in the classic rock section, trying to keep myself from having another existential crisis. 

I watched Brendon go all the way around the store, picking out record after record. II loved watching him get so excited over music, but then again, Brendon was the sort of person who could get excited over anything. I had to take a few deep breaths to keep my heart from exploding as Brendon continued to look through the record store’s collection. After nearly an hour in the store, Brendon finally came back to me with a huge bag of newly purchased records in his hands. 

“When are you ever going to have time to listen to those?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” Brendon admitted. “I don’t even have a turntable to play them on.” 

“Why did you buy these if you can’t even play them?” I asked. 

“I’m saving up for a record player,” Brendon said. “I almost have enough money to buy one.” 

I still thought that it didn’t make sense to buy records that you couldn’t listen to yet, but to each his own. Brendon’s odd purchasing habits didn’t make me love him any less. “Where are we going next?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “Let’s just walk around for a while.” 

The two of us left the record store, and all of a sudden, Brendon’s hand latched onto mine. My eyes drifted to meet his, and Brendon gave me a small smile, making my heart melt.

The two of us wandered around Old Haven for a while, admiring the beauty of the town. It had stopped snowing, making it a little bit easier for us to wander aimlessly. Old Haven was a gorgeous place, but it could never match Brendon’s beauty. I began to doubt that anything could. I was lucky to have someone like him in my life. Who knew that a dorky piano-playing philosopher major could earn the affection of someone like Brendon Urie? 

“Hey Ryan, look at this,” Brendon said. “It says that we can get our caricatures done here. That sounds kind of fun.” 

“Brendon, that is not how you pronounce ‘caricature,’” I said. 

“How do you pronounce ‘caricature?’” he asked, making the exact same mistake that he had made earlier. 

“It’s CA-ri-CA-ture, not ca-RI-ca-TURE,” I said. 

“That’s what I was saying!” Brendon said. 

“No, you were pronouncing it ca-RI-ca-TURE,” I said. 

Brendon shrugged and said, “Whatever. You’re kind of acting like Hermione Granger right now, Ryan. You might as well be telling me to pronounce it Levi-O-sa instead of Levio-SA.” 

“I guess you’re right,” I said. 

“Now that that’s resolved, let’s go get our ca-RI-ca-TURES done,” Brendon said, making me roll my eyes. Then again, mispronouncing words was a minor flaw. If that was the worst thing about Brendon, then I would be lucky. 

The artist ended up doing a remarkable job of capturing Brendon and I, mostly by expanding Brendon’s forehead to be even larger than it already was. “I look so ridiculous,” Brendon commented when he looked at the drawing. 

“I think you look beautiful,” I said. 

“Even with the oversized forehead?” Brendon asked. 

“Yes, even with the oversized forehead,” I said with a smile.

“You’re so sweet, Ryan,” Brendon said. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat. I’m hungry.” 

I followed Brendon into Taste of Thailand, and the two of us sat down and ordered. I ended up getting a noodle dish, while Brendon ordered fried rice. “I didn’t even know that there was a Thai restaurant in Old Haven,” I told him. “I knew that there was a pizza place, because Patrick ordered from there when we did the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge, but I had no idea that this existed…” 

“Let me guess - did Pete Wentz win the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge?” Brendon asked. 

“As far as I know, yes,” I said. “He said that he ate forty three pizzas that night, but I don’t know if I believe him.” 

“I’d believe it,” Brendon said. “Pete ate forty two last year.” 

“How is that even possible?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “I guess he just really likes pizza.” 

“That’s insane,” I said as the waiter brought out our food. “I love noodles, but I couldn’t eat forty three plates of them in one night.” I took a bite of my dinner, and it reminded me of my favorite restaurant back home. Brendon had picked the perfect place for our date. 

“How do you like the food?” Brendon asked. 

“It’s delicious,” I said. “What do you think?” 

“This is one of my favorite restaurants in Old Haven, but it’s even better when I have you around to share it with,” Brendon said. 

“Thanks, Brendon,” I said, blushing. Did Brendon think about me in the same way that I thought about him? He constantly found new ways to invade my thoughts and new reasons to make me fall in love with him, but I wasn’t sure if I was doing the same thing to him. He certainly seemed like he liked me though. Perhaps I just had to have faith that he did see something in me. 

“You’re welcome,” Brendon said. “What else has been going on with you?” 

“Patrick’s been acting weird,” I said. 

“Was he the one with the glasses and the fedora that I saw when I picked you up?” Brendon asked. I nodded, and he asked, “What’s going on with him?” 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I asked him, but he wouldn’t give me a clear answer. I suspect that it has to do with his internship.” 

“Internships can be stressful,” Brendon said. “I was an intern at a theater in New York a few summers ago. It was frustrating, but I also had a lot of fun. Just give it some time.” 

“I will, but I’ll have to keep an eye on him,” I said. “I’m kind of worried about Patrick.” 

“I don’t think you need to be,” Brendon said. 

“Alright, Brendon,” I said. 

Once the two of us finished our meals, and we had both paid, we left the restaurant and headed back to Flack Hall. “I don’t want this night to be over yet,” I said. 

“Me neither, but I should probably get you home,” Brendon said. “I’ll see you at the Aubergine later anyways.” 

All of a sudden, I felt a tiny snowflake fall onto my face. I looked up and noticed that it was snowing yet again. “I’ve got a brilliant idea,” Brendon said as the two of us approached Flack Hall. “Let’s build a snowman.” 

“How old are you - five?” I asked.

“I’m five at heart,” Brendon answered.  
I began rolling some snow into a ball anyways as Brendon collected a few items to use as accessories. It didn’t take us long to assemble the snowman, but when the two of us stepped back to admire our work, something seemed like it was missing. “I think it needs a hat,” Brendon said. “Where can we get a hat?” 

“There’s usually a hat on top of the M.C. Moneybags statue,” I said. I headed off to find a hat, and Brendon followed me. The two of us ended up walking halfway across campus, but we did find what we were looking for. Someone had placed a top hat on M.C. Moneybags’ head, complete with a kale leaf tucked inside. 

After a few tries, I managed to knock the hat off of the statue’s head. Brendon and I then brought it back to Flack Hall and put it on top of our snowman’s head. “It looks great,” Brendon said as he headed towards the residence hall. 

“Yeah, it does,” I said. 

“Ryan, I had an amazing time today,” Brendon said as he stepped closer to me. 

“Me too,” I told him. In fact, it had been one of the best days out of all of the eighteen years of my existence. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Brendon said. 

“Definitely,” I replied. That was when Brendon and I finally closed the distance between us. I’m still not sure which one of us started the kiss, but it didn’t matter. Brendon’s soft lips touched mine, if only for a second, and it was the best feeling in the world. 

“I’ll see you soon, Ryan,” Brendon said. He gave me a quick wave, and I headed inside to keep myself from either dying of frostbite or dying from spontaneous combustion caused by intense, undying love for Brendon Urie.


	25. Do animals have rights?

One week went by, and Brendon and I only became closer. I spent every waking moment that I wasn’t in class with him, and I could already tell that this was the start of a truly amazing relationship. There was something special about Brendon and I, and I was proud to call him my boyfriend. 

As I became lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, I found it difficult to pay attention to other aspects of my life. My grades were still satisfactory, but it was impossible to pay attention in class when I could be thinking about Brendon. However, there was one thing that I couldn’t help but notice. 

Patrick Stump had stopped showing up to class. 

It was unlike Patrick to miss a class. Even when he got sick last semester, he still went to his writing seminar. If it had been me, I would have simply taken the day off, but that was the kind of person that Patrick was. He always followed the rules, even if he suffered for it. 

I thought it was odd when Patrick missed Principles of Ecology on Monday, but there were plenty of possible excuses for that. Perhaps he was sick, or maybe he had another commitment. Maybe he just didn’t feel like showing up to class that day. On Wednesday, I thought that it was even more strange that Patrick wasn’t there, but there could still be an innocent reason why he hadn’t bothered to show up. Andy and I had to do the lab by ourselves that day, but we were both certain that he would come on Friday. 

When Patrick didn’t show up on Friday, it was obvious that something was wrong. I had seen Patrick around campus, and I knew that he was going to statistics, since a few of the other students in my Ancient Philosophy class were taking stats with him, and they said that he was still going to class. However, I couldn’t figure out why he refused to go to Principles of Ecology. 

I talked to a few other freshmen that morning, and I soon discovered that statistics was the only course that Patrick was attending. He was skipping nearly all of his classes, and for someone like Patrick, that was a major red flag. I had to talk to him. 

On my way to the dining hall, I met up with Andy. “I’m worried about Patrick,” I told him. 

“Me too,” Andy said. “He hasn’t shown up to ecology all week.” 

“He hasn’t gone to any of his classes except for statistics,” I said. 

“That’s so unlike him,” Andy said. “I didn’t even think he liked stats.” 

“Me neither,” I said. “He’s always complaining about Pete being in that class. Andy, should we talk to him about it?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Andy said. The two of us entered the dining hall, took some food from the buffet, and searched for Patrick. It took us a while, but eventually, Andy found him sitting by himself, eating a sandwich. 

“Hi Patrick,” I said as I sat next to him. 

“Leave me alone,” Patrick replied. 

“Come on, Patrick,” Andy said as he sat next to Patrick on the other side. “We just wanted to hang out with you.” 

Patrick looked away from both of us and said, “I don’t want to deal with this right now.” 

“What’s wrong?” I asked him. 

“I want to change my major,” Patrick said. 

“That’s not too hard,” I said. “You can just go to the Shufflebottom Center and fill out the paperwork.” 

“I talked to Ray Toro once, and he said that he changed his major three times in his first semester,” Andy said. “It’s not that big of a deal. What do you want to change to?” 

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I’m thinking about being a stats major, but anything that’s not bio will do.” 

“Why don’t you try philosophy?” I suggested. 

“Ryan, can you please at least try to stay on topic?” Andy said. “Patrick, why do you want to change your major, just out of curiosity?” 

“I don’t want to be a veterinarian anymore,” Patrick said. “Why would I be a biology major with a concentration in animal science if I’m not going to be a vet?” 

“Why don’t you want to be a vet anymore?” I asked. 

All of a sudden, Patrick began to cry. Tears gushed out of his eyes, and no matter what Andy and I did, he wouldn’t stop sobbing. “Patrick, can you please tell us what’s wrong?” Andy asked. 

“I decided that I didn’t want to be a vet anymore after the first day of my internship,” Patrick said, fighting through his tears. “I showed up, and I had to shadow one of the older veterinarians for the day. At first everything went fine. I even got to help her treat some of the animals.” 

“What happened next?” Andy asked. 

“There was a cute beagle who came in, and the veterinarian that I was shadowing explained that the dog was extremely sick and we had to put it down,” Patrick said. “She made me do it. She made me put the dog to sleep, and I saw the light drain from its eyes. It broke my heart, and now I’ve decided that I don’t want to be a veterinarian at all. I can’t do that every single day. I wouldn’t be able to live like that. I signed up for petting cute animals, not killing them.” Patrick started to cry again, and I handed him a tissue. 

Andy and I exchanged a glance, unsure as to how to deal with this new information. In all honesty, I didn’t blame him for wanting to change majors after an experience like that. I didn’t have the inner strength to put an animal down either. “Patrick, it’s okay,” I told him. 

“No it’s not!” Patrick shouted. “I’m not okay!” 

“You don’t have to be a veterinarian if you don’t want to,” I said. “College is all about figuring out what you want out of life and who you really are.” 

“I don’t know what I want!” Patrick exclaimed. “I know that I don’t want to be a veterinarian, and I know that I like adorable animals, but I don’t actually know what I want.” 

“That’s normal,” Andy said. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Patrick said. “Both you and Ryan have everything figured out.” 

He had a point. I’ve always wanted to be a philosopher, and that’s still what I want. I have never once questioned that desire, even after everyone started telling me that I would never get a job if I majored in philosophy in college. “Perhaps this is a good thing,” I told Patrick. “Maybe you’ll find something else you love, and you’ll be glad that you had this internship to let you know that being a veterinarian isn’t for you.” 

“Are there any careers that involve playing with animals all day?” Patrick said. “I think that’s what I really want to do.” 

“I don’t think so,” Andy said. 

“There are plenty of people who will do that for free,” I said. 

“You’re right,” Patrick said.

“You were talking about switching to stats,” Andy said. “Why do you like that so much?” 

“It’s a great class,” Patrick said. “Pete sits behind me in statistics, and he’s hilarious.” 

“I thought that you didn’t like Pete,” I said. 

“I’ve gotten to know him, and I think that I like him a little bit better now,” Patrick said. 

“I’m glad,” I said. “Pete is a nice guy once you get to know him. I thought he was weird when I first met him, but he’s an awesome friend when he’s not goofing around with that fidget spinner.” 

“I still don’t know what to do,” Patrick said. “I want to change my major, but I’ve already taken a lot of science classes.” 

“You can always count those towards your general education requirements,” Andy said. 

“What will I do with a stats degree?” Patrick asked. 

“Statistics can be a useful subject,” I said. 

“Unlike philosophy,” Andy joked. 

“Philosophy is useful!” I argued. “Many of the core ideas of modern society, from religion to democracy, were developed by philosophers.” 

“That doesn’t mean that philosophy will give you enough money to live on,” Andy said. “Nobody will pay you to sit in a room and think about things, as I keep telling both you and Joe.” 

“I’ll find a way to make it work,” I said. “Anyways Patrick, are you feeling any better?” 

“A little,” Patrick said. “I wish that I didn’t have to put down that dog.”

“Don’t worry about the past too much,” I said. 

“It’s hard not to,” Patrick said. 

“I’m sure that everything will work out in the end,” I said. 

“Me too,” Andy said. “Patrick, no matter what you decide, we’ll support you, but could you please come to ecology on Monday? We did a lab on Wednesday that you still need to make up.” 

Patrick sighed and said, “I suppose there’s no harm in showing up for a class. I don’t know what I’m going to do about my internship though. I have to go to the Veterinary Hospital again over the weekend.” 

“You still have a little bit of time to figure it out,” Andy said. 

“Maybe it will be better this time,” I said. 

“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” Patrick said. “I’ll go to class on Monday though.” 

“Great,” Andy said. “We’ll see you then.” 

On the way out of the dining hall, I gave Patrick a hug and told him, “I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that with your internship. I wouldn’t want to put a dog to sleep either.” 

Patrick sighed and said, “Thanks for all of your help, Ryan. I’m still a bit traumatized, but I think I can move on.” 

“You’re welcome,” I said. 

Patrick and I went our separate ways, and as I walked back to Flack Hall and Patrick went to his statistics class, I wondered whether it was right to put that dog to sleep at all. The dog hadn’t been given a say in the matter, but it was clear that the animal was quite sick. Perhaps the dog’s suffering did need to be alleviated, but was it right to make an innocent, inexperienced intern do it? Patrick certainly wasn’t a qualified veterinarian, and the experience had nearly broken him. 

There was so much that was wrong with the situation that Patrick had been put into, but there was nothing that any of us could do about it now. It was in the past, and assuming that time was linear and not a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff, we couldn’t go back and change anything. All we could do about these kinds of things was face them with a sense of poise and rationality.


	26. Can love last forever?

The next night, I found Brendon waiting for me by the door at the Aubergine. “Hi Ryan,” he said. “How have you been?” 

“Stressed out,” I answered. 

“Why is that?” Brendon asked as he wrapped his arms around me. Having Brendon with me always made everything feel better, even in troubled times like these. 

“I found out why Patrick has been acting so strangely,” I said. “He had to put down a dog at his internship.” 

“That’s horrible,” Brendon said. 

“I think so too,” I said. “He’s thinking about changing his major.” 

“I would change my major too if I had to do something like that,” Brendon said. “Luckily, Theater Studies doesn’t require anything other than singing, dancing, and acting talent.” 

I didn’t know that Kale even had a theater program, but there were plenty of things that I didn’t know about my own school. For example, I had discovered just the week before that there was a movie theater in the basement of the Pendragon Center. It wasn’t too unreasonable to believe that Kale offered theater as well. “I didn’t know that you could dance,” I said. 

Brendon raised an eyebrow and said, “You’ve never seen me dance?” 

“No, I haven’t,” I said. 

“Why don’t I show you then?” Brendon said. He stepped away from me for a moment, and he spontaneously broke into a ridiculous-looking dance routine. Brendon certainly had more dancing talent than I did, but that wasn’t saying much. Nevertheless, he pulled off his absurd dance moves and managed to make it look good. He even did a backflip at one point, resulting in plenty of applause from the other people at the Aubergine. “I once did that shirtless while eating a sandwich,” Brendon said once the applause died down.

“I kind of want to see that,” I said. 

“Ryan, you should dance with me,” Brendon said. 

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I’m not a very good dancer.” 

“Just give it a try,” Brendon said. He took my hand, and I reluctantly began to dance with him. I truly was a horrible dancer, but Brendon tried to help me through the song, and by the end, I was only slightly offbeat. Despite the awkwardness, it was wonderful being so close to Brendon. 

I looked at the clock and told Brendon, “It’s nine in the afternoon.” 

“Can I get another drink before we perform?” Brendon asked. I nodded, and Brendon went back to the bar, while I ran off to find Spencer. 

As it turned out, Spencer wasn’t too hard to find. I nearly crashed into him as I headed towards the piano. “Sorry about that,” I said. 

“It’s okay,” Spencer said. “I don’t know what you and Brendon were doing out there, but it was fun to watch.” 

“Thanks,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure whether Spencer’s comment was supposed to be a compliment or not. Did it matter? If I treated it as a compliment, maybe that made it into a compliment. 

“No problem,” Spencer said. “Is Brendon ready?” 

“I think he’s getting another drink,” I said. 

“No, I’m ready!” Brendon exclaimed as he sipped on his drink. He then put the drink down and grabbed the microphone. Spencer gave me a quick glance, and then started banging on the drums. I joined in soon afterwards, and before long, the three of us were back into our normal, comforting routine. 

I wasn’t paying any attention to anything other than Brendon’s sublime vocals when he broke that routine. After our second song, he sat next to me on the piano bench and said, “This next song goes out to my beautiful boyfriend, Ryan Ross.” As he planted a soft kiss onto my lips, the crowd went wild. 

I blushed and pulled away, a little bit flustered from all of the attention. Brendon returned to his normal spot onstage, and he sang an entirely new song - a love ballad just for me. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I simply watched Brendon and listened to his voice soar over the crowd and into my heart. 

The rest of the show went normally, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the new song that Brendon had played. I didn’t think that it was necessary for Brendon to tell everyone at the Aubergine that the two of us were together, but the song was a sweet gesture. It was nice of Brendon to do something like that for me, and I was glad that I had such an amazing boyfriend. 

After the show, I had to thank Brendon for dedicating the new song to me. “It’s no big deal, Ryan,” Brendon said. “I just wanted to show everyone how much I care about you.” 

“That’s so nice of you, Brendon,” I said. “I wish everyone was as kind as you are.” 

All of a sudden, Gerard came up to me. “Ryan, we need to talk,” he said. 

“I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Brendon said. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then left, while Gerard dragged me out of the Aubergine. 

“What do you need to talk to me about?” I asked as I zipped up my winter jacket and looked around. Frank, Laura, Pete, and Gerard were all standing next to me, giving me angry looks. 

“Are you and Brendon really dating?” Gerard asked. 

“Of course we’re dating,” I said. “I thought that was kind of obvious.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Frank asked. 

“I didn’t think that it was necessary,” I said. “I didn’t even know that Brendon was going to tell everyone at the Aubergine. I wanted to keep it a secret for a little longer. We’ve only been together for a week.” 

“Ryan, you know that you can always tell us things like this,” Gerard said. “I’m really happy for you and Brendon.” 

“Yeah, you two are an adorable couple,” Pete said. 

“I probably could have gotten you two together sooner if I knew that you were interested in him,” Gerard said. 

“This isn’t that big of a deal, Gerard,” I said. 

“Are you kidding?” Pete said. 

“It’s a huge deal,” Laura said. 

“I agree,” Frank said. “You should have told us that you were going out with Brendon.” 

“I don’t think it’s anything for you guys to get worked up over,” I said. 

“Next time something big happens in your life, can you at least tell us?” Gerard asked. 

I sighed and said, “I suppose so.” 

“Excellent,” Gerard said as we approached Flack Hall. “I’ll see you soon, Ryan. Don’t forget that there’s a Guyliner Club meeting on Tuesday!” 

“I’ll be there,” I said. 

“Great,” Gerard said. “Have a nice night, Ryan.” 

“Thanks, you too,” I said. I opened the door to Flack Hall as the other four members of the Guyliner Club went their separate ways. 

The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Patrick spent another day at the Old Haven Veterinary Hospital, and although his internship was going better, he was still considering changing his major. As usual, I spent my nights at the Aubergine with Brendon, but nothing unexpected happened. 

On Monday, I went to Principles of Ecology, and thankfully, Patrick and Andy were both there when I arrived. “It’s so great to have you back in class, Patrick,” I said to him. 

Patrick groaned and said, “I can’t believe how much work I have to make up. It feels like I missed a whole month, and I have two other classes that I have to catch up on too!” 

“I can always give you my notes from last week’s lectures,” I said. 

“That would be nice,” Patrick said. “What have you two been up to?” 

“I heard that Ryan has a new boyfriend,” Andy said. 

“Where did you hear that?” I asked. 

“The whole campus knows by now,” Andy said. “I heard it from Joe who heard it from Pete who apparently heard it from Brendon.” 

Did the whole campus really know my relationship status? Andy had to be exaggerating at least slightly, but it wasn’t far from the truth. However, I knew that I didn’t need to be worried about it. I loved Brendon Urie, and at that point, I didn’t care who knew it. 

Instead of paying attention to the lecture, I spent class daydreaming about Brendon and my future. There was no doubt in my mind that Brendon and I would spend our lives together. After all, if we really were two halves of a single whole, then why wouldn’t we? Brendon and I hadn’t been together for very long, but I was certain that there was something special about our relationship. Already, I wanted to be with Brendon for my whole life, and if there was an afterlife, I wanted to spend that with him too. 

However, I couldn’t help but wonder if Brendon loved me in the same way that I loved him. There was no way to know if he was real, so how could I ever know his thoughts and feelings? Even if he did love me, would that love last? 

I couldn’t do anything but hope that Brendon and I were meant to be together and that he genuinely cared about me. I thought that both of those things were true, but I could never confirm it. My relationship with Brendon was like anything else - it could be real, or it could be all an illusion, but it was much easier on my sanity if I pretended that it was real. 

My mind drifted back to winter break, and what my mother had said about knowing Brendon. I still had no idea how she knew Brendon, and she clearly hadn’t figured it out for herself. There was no way that my mother, who had lived in Nevada for her whole life, could know my boyfriend from Connecticut. Maybe she was mistaken after all. She didn’t know him, and she was just thinking of someone else. It was the only logical explanation that I could come up with. 

“Ryan, do you have any idea what Professor Gilboa is talking about?” Patrick whispered. 

“I wasn’t paying attention,” I admitted. 

“She’s going over nitrogen cycling,” Andy said. 

“Thanks Andy,” I said as I returned to my notebook and tried to focus on the lecture. 

After class, I headed straight to the dining hall, already dreading Public Policy. I swore that class would be the death of me, but thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with it until after lunch. Thinking about Brendon was the only way I could get through that class. 

A little while later, Patrick and Andy joined me in the dining hall, and the three of us started up a lively conversation about our ecology homework. I couldn’t help but feel glad that Patrick was back in class, and for once, my life felt like it was going right.


	27. What is the best kind of government?

Needless to say, Public Policy did not go well that day. We had to take a test, and when I read the first question, I couldn’t figure out the answer. I read the question over and over again, but there must have been a typo. Something was terribly wrong.

_Which of the following is NOT a reason for the proliferation of interest groups in the United States?_

_A. social diversity  
B. governmental fragmentation  
C. limited government  
D. the weakness of political parties _

All of a sudden, I realized what was wrong. I raised my hand, and Professor Higgins rushed over to me. “What is it, Ryan?” she asked, clearly exasperated already. 

“I think there’s an error in the question,” I said to my professor. “None of those answers are reasons for the proliferation of interest groups in the United States, because interest groups aren’t real.” 

“What are you talking about?” Professor Higgins asked. 

“More accurately, they might be real, but they might not be,” I explained. “There’s no way to prove that interest groups are real, or that there are many of them, as opposed to only a few. Haven’t you ever heard of epistemological solipsism, Professor?” 

“Ryan, I don’t have time for this, and neither do you,” Professor Higgins said. “Just take your test.” She walked away, leaving me alone to stare at my test without truly understanding a single word on that page. I didn’t know what to do, so I selected the first answer and moved on. 

The rest of the test didn’t go any better, and when my grades were posted online later that day, I saw that I was failing Public Policy. It was clear that I had a problem on my hands. I had never failed a class before, and I wasn’t about to start now. I needed to get help, but I had no idea who could help me. Professor Higgins wasn’t exactly sympathetic, and I wasn’t friends with anyone in that class. Studying on my own hadn’t done me any good in Public Policy. What was I supposed to do? 

I was still pondering that question on Tuesday, when I headed to the Pendragon Center once again for a Guyliner Club meeting. I found the rest of the Guyliner Club sitting in a circle, gossiping about their classes and the Greek Friendship Society, among other things. 

“Hey Ryan,” Pete said as I sat down next to him. 

“Hi Pete,” I replied. 

“I was just telling Laura, Gerard, and Frank about my statistics class,” Pete said. “It’s my favorite class this semester, mostly because there’s this really hot guy who sits in front of me. He’s the nicest person I know, he has this amazing soul voice, and did I mention that he’s adorable?” 

“Pete, we get it,” Laura said. “You think that this guy in your stats class is hot. What’s his name?” 

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you that,” Pete said. “His name is Patrick. Isn’t that such a cute name?” 

“It’s kind of cute,” Frank admitted. “I don’t think anything can beat Gerard though.” 

“Thanks Frank,” Gerard said. “You’re the best.” 

Laura paid Frank and Gerard no attention. “Is that the guy you wouldn’t stop staring at last semester?” she asked Pete. “The one with the glasses?” 

“Maybe,” Pete admitted. 

“I think he might have come to a Greek Friendship Society party once?” Gerard said. “I don’t remember all that well.” 

“Wait, are you talking about Patrick Stump?” I asked. I hadn’t exactly been paying attention to Pete’s gushing. Then again, I wasn’t the only member of the Guyliner Club who wasn’t listening. 

Pete nodded. “He’s your roommate, right?” he said. I nodded. “Isn’t he so cute?” 

“That’s subjective, Pete,” I said. “I don’t find him attractive, but you obviously do.” I paused to think for a moment. “Didn’t you steal his hat and put it on top of the M.C. Moneybags statue last semester?” 

“That was last semester,” Pete said. “He’s in my stats class now, and he’s so smart and kind and adorable…” 

“I bet you two would make a great couple,” I said, and then immediately wondered why I had said that. I wasn’t sure if Patrick was interested in Pete in that way - I wasn’t even sure if Patrick even liked guys - but it was nice seeing Pete this happy. I hadn’t seen him smile like this since the night he supposedly ate forty three pizzas. 

“I think so too, but I don’t think he likes me,” Pete said. 

“He said that he liked you just the other day,” I said. “He might just like you as a friend, but that’s a start.” 

Pete smiled again and said, “Maybe there is hope for me then.” 

“How about this?” I said. “I think I might be able to set you two up.” 

“That would be awesome, Ryan,” Pete said as he reached over to give me a hug. “Thank you so much.” 

“No problem,” I said, already regretting what I had said. I wanted to make Pete happy, but there was no way that I could do that ethically if Patrick wasn’t interested. 

“Ryan, what have you been doing lately?” Frank asked. 

“Brendon Urie, obviously,” Gerard said. “Don’t ask questions that you already know the answer to, Frank.” 

I rolled my eyes and said, “I failed a test in Public Policy yesterday.” 

“That’s too bad, but if you study, I’m sure you can get your grades up,” Frank said. “I almost failed my first psychology course, and now I’m a psych major.” 

“I actually took Public Policy when I was a freshman,” Pete said. “That class was kind of hard, if I remember correctly. Maybe I’m confusing it with Comparative Politics.” 

“I took it too,” Laura said. “I can tutor you if you’d like.” 

“Can you please tutor me, Laura?” I said. “I really need help.” 

“Of course,” Laura said. “When do you want to meet?” 

“Can we do it after the meeting is over?” I asked. 

“Sure, why not?” Laura said. “I don’t have anything after this.” 

“Thanks, Laura,” I said. 

The meeting continued on, but all I could think about was Public Policy. At that point, I would do anything to get my grade above an F. Mom would be so disappointed in me if she saw that I’d failed a class. I had to do something to improve my grades, and studying with Laura seemed like a good solution. 

After the meeting, Laura and I walked to Willoughby Library. The two of us found a table on the second floor, and Laura found a review book for the class. “What unit are you on?” she asked me. 

“We’re still on Unit One,” I told Laura. She shrugged and flipped to the appropriate chapter in the review book. “Look at that,” she said. “This book even has multiple choice and fill in the blank questions to help you study. Let’s start with those.” 

“Alright,” I said. “What’s the first question?” Laura grinned and rolled up her sleeves, revealing her tattoos, including a few that weren’t there during first semester. “Did you tattoo your entire arm black?” 

“Yes,” Laura said. “It’s punk rock. Now, let’s actually get some studying done.” She opened the book and began to read the first question. “Which of the following is not a reason for the proliferation of interest groups in the United States?” 

“That was on the test yesterday, Laura,” I interrupted. 

“Do you know the answer?” Laura asked. 

“The correct answer wasn’t on the test,” I said. “It’s none of the above, because interest groups might not exist.” 

Laura rolled her eyes and said, “Let’s just hypothetically say that interest groups do exist and they are numerous. Why might that be?” 

“Humans have an innate need to speak their mind and be heard by others, and the proliferation of interest groups could be used as evidence for that theory.”

“That’s most likely true, but that’s not one of the answers.”

“I don’t know what the answer is then.”

“Fine, let’s move on,” Laura said. “Which Supreme Court case established the Miranda rights?” 

“Laura, how would you define a right?” 

“Ryan, the answer is literally in the question.”

“I can’t answer the question until I am certain that the Miranda rights are truly rights.”

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Rights can be defined in many ways, but if the Miranda rights are not rights, then I cannot be certain of the truthfulness of the entire question. Perhaps it is a trick question.” 

“It’s not a trick question.”

“You said that rather suspiciously.”

“Ryan, it’s not a trick question,” Laura said. “Just give me an answer, and I’ll tell you if it’s right or not.” 

“I believe that this is a trick question,” I said. “The Miranda rights were set up by a law, not a court case.” 

“That’s completely wrong,” Laura said. “Miranda v. Arizona established the Miranda rights. Have you been paying any attention in Public Policy?” 

“I’ve been paying attention,” I insisted. 

“Whatever you say, Ryan,” Laura said as she flipped through the review book. “Here, I found an easy question. What type of government does the United States have?” 

“Is this a multiple choice question?” I asked. 

“No,” Laura said. “You can do this, Ryan. You’ve lived in America for your whole life. I think that you know what type of government it has.” 

“Why am I expected to know this?” I asked. 

“I already explained that,” Laura said, but I disregarded her. 

“Many, if not most, Americans are completely lacking in political knowledge and knowledge of current events, so why am I expected to know something like this? Not knowing it would merely make me average.” 

“Do I need to repeat the question, Ryan?” 

“No, I think I get it. I just don’t understand why you expect me to know this.” 

“Then give me an answer.”

“The United States should be ruled by a benevolent philosopher king, because he or she would be most concerned with wisdom instead of war or gaining power,” I said. 

Laura glared at me and then said, “I asked what type of government the United States has, not what type of government it should have.” 

“Isn’t it better to ask what government there should be instead of what government there is?” I said. 

“You need to have a solid understanding of how governments work and what’s already out there before you start debating on what type of government should exist,” Laura said. “That’s why I majored in Political Science in the first place. There is so much in the world that needs to be changed, but I need to understand how all of it works before I start looking for a revolution.” 

“I still think that having a philosopher king would solve all of our problems,” I said. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Laura said. “It’s never good to have that much power concentrated in a single person, especially someone who would spend more time wondering how to govern best than actually governing.” 

“It’s best to spend more time and come to the correct answer than to rush to an incorrect answer,” I argued. 

“Unless you’re taking a timed test or ruling a country,” Laura said. 

“A philosopher king would rule the United States wisely,” I said. 

“I’m done with you,” Laura said as she threw the review book onto the table. “Normally, I’m respectful of different political beliefs, but you are insane. I can’t help you in this class.” 

It had only been a few hours since Laura had agreed to be my Public Policy tutor, and already, she was gone. It was a shame. I thought that Laura might be sympathetic to my troubles. 

That night, I asked Pete if he could tutor me in Public Policy, and thankfully, he said yes. The two of us met in Beauregard Library the next day to work on my Public Policy homework and hopefully raise my grade in the process. 

When Pete showed up, he was dressed entirely in black, complete with eyeliner. “Pete, is there any way that you could possibly look more emo?” I asked him. 

Pete smiled and said, “I’ll stop wearing black when they make a darker color.” 

Despite his incessant chatter about emo bands, llamas, and my roommate, Pete turned out to be a decent tutor. He listened to me when I talked about philosopher kings, and he attempted to help me understand the topics presented in class. By the end of the week, my grade was up to a D. It wasn’t even close to a stellar grade, but I wasn’t failing anymore. 

If I ever got the chance, I would put my ideal government into place, but for now, I was satisfied with just passing Public Policy.


	28. Where did Brendon come from?

“You know Ryan, I haven’t been swimming in forever,” Brendon ended up telling me one February night at the Aubergine.

“You can swim in Kale University pool whenever you want,” I said to him. “It’s open whenever the swim team isn’t practicing.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Brendon said. “Maybe we should go there together.” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said as I gently placed my fingers on the piano keys. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” 

Brendon grinned as he took a seat next to me on the piano bench and gently wrapped his arms around me. “Yeah, I’m free,” he said. “This sounds like so much fun.” 

“I think so too,” I said, smiling. 

The show went especially well that day. Brendon gave me a piano part for the love ballad that he had added to our set, so I got to play along with Brendon and Spencer. The tune had since become a fan favorite, and it had found a special place in my heart as well. That song was the closest thing that I had to proof that Brendon truly loved me. Every single time we played it, he dedicated it to me. 

However, there were other things on my mind. My grades in Public Policy still weren’t great, I had a paper due in two days for Morals, Values, and Ethics, and I had promised Pete that I would set him up with Patrick. How was I supposed to do all of that and go on a date with Brendon? I cared about Brendon more than anything else in my life, but there were other things to worry about. 

After the show, I left quickly, although I promised Brendon that we would have more time to talk the next day. When I returned to Flack Hall, I typed up a rough draft for my Morals, Values, and Ethics paper and studied my Public Policy notes. I knew that I was keeping Patrick up, but he had a lot to do too. He was still catching up from the week of school that he missed, along with all of his new assignments. The two of us didn’t go to bed until it was well past midnight. 

The next day, after I edited my philosophy paper, I met Brendon outside the McBean Aquatic Center. He was just as stunning and beautiful as he always was, and I took a few deep breaths to keep my heart from racing. “Hey Ryan,” he said. 

“Hi Brendon,” I said. “I still can’t believe that you’ve never been here. I’ve only been here once, but I’m still a freshman.” 

Brendon shrugged and said, “I didn’t know that it was available for open swim.” 

I laughed and said, “Did you think that they built a pool just for the swim team kids? Kale’s team isn’t even that good.” 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought,” Brendon said as he took my hand. “Let’s go inside.” Brendon and I walked up to the door, but when Brendon went to open it, the door wouldn’t budge. “Ryan, it’s locked!” he exclaimed. “What do I do?” 

“You can just scan your student ID card,” I said. 

Brendon went pale and said, “I lost my ID.” 

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my ID card. “I’ll open the door, but you should go to the Shufflebottom Center and get a new card. How do you get into your residence hall?” 

“I live off campus, remember?” Brendon said. 

“You should still get a new ID,” I said as I scanned my card. The door opened, and Brendon and I entered the aquatic center, but we got lost almost immediately. “Where are the locker rooms?” I asked as Brendon and I wandered through the building, unsure of how to get into the pool. 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “You’re the one who’s been here before.” 

After a while, we finally found the locker rooms. Brendon and I changed into our swimsuits and headed into the pool. I looked around and spotted a few of my classmates goofing around in the pool. 

“Ryan!” Hayley shouted as she tossed a beach ball to one of her friends. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” I said. 

“Who’s that?” Brendon asked. 

“That’s Hayley Williams,” I said. “She lives in my residence hall.” 

“Alright,” Brendon said. He looked around the facility and quickly focused on the diving board. “I want to give that a try. I bet that doing a backflip off of it would be a hell of a feeling.” 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I said. “It might be dangerous.” 

Brendon laughed and got in line for the diving board. I followed him, partially to make sure that he didn’t die by backflipping off of the diving board and partially because it would be a mistake not to follow such a beautiful man. 

When it was Brendon’s turn, he hopped onto the first step of the ladder that led up to the diving board and said, “Ryan, could you please give me a kiss for good luck?” 

Any excuse to kiss Brendon Urie’s ravishing lips seemed like a good one, so I did as he asked. It was a long, soft kiss, and I could have stayed like that forever, but Brendon eventually broke the kiss and ran onto the diving board, and sure enough, he did a backflip. 

He landed in the water with a splash, and he swam breaststroke back to the wall. “That was awesome!” Brendon shouted as he climbed out of the water. “I should do that again!” 

It was my turn to go off the diving board. I climbed up the ladder and carefully walked up to the edge of the board. Then, I bounced up and down a few times before I did a cannonball into the water. 

Brendon was right. It was a hell of a feeling. 

After a while, Brendon got bored of backflipping off of the diving board. He swam to the edge of the pool, climbed out, and sprinted to the other end of the pool. 

All of a sudden, the lifeguard blew her whistle. “Hey!” she screamed. “You there! Quit running on deck! Did you even read the pool rules?”

“Seriously?” Brendon said. “She’s getting mad at me over running on deck, but not doing backflips into the pool? I just don’t get it.” 

“Me neither, but the aquatics staff know more than we do,” I said. “We should respect their authority.” 

Brendon rolled his eyes and said, “I think the lifeguard just liked watching me do backflips.” 

“I don’t blame her,” I said, blushing. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you could pull off a shirtless backflip.” 

Brendon smiled and slid into the pool, while I stuck my foot in the water. “Brendon, it’s cold in here,” I complained. 

“It’s not that bad,” Brendon said as he swam in circles. I couldn’t exactly say that I minded watching him. Who wouldn’t gain pleasure from seeing someone as beautiful as Brendon? 

I jumped into the pool, splashing Brendon in the process. “Come on, Ryan,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that!” 

“Sorry,” I said. 

“It’s okay,” Brendon said as he brushed his lips against my cheek. “What’s new with you, Modern Day Socrates?” 

I laughed and asked, “How did you come up with that nickname?” 

“It suits you,” Brendon said. “I could come up with a different one if you’d like. Ooh, I’ve got it! What about Ryro? Get it? It’s like a combination of your first and last names.” 

I shrugged and said, “You can call me whatever you want, as long as it’s not my real first name.” 

“Wait, what? Ryan’s not your real first name?” 

“Ryan is my middle name. My real first name is George, but I go by Ryan because George is my dad’s name.” 

“That makes sense. Can I call you Ryro though?” 

“Sure, why not?”

“So Ryro, what’s up?” 

“I’m not failing Public Policy anymore.” 

“Public Policy,” Brendon said. “That sounds like such a useless class. I don’t think I’ve ever used a day of my education, but that one sounds particularly awful.” 

“It is, but Pete’s helping me with it.”

“What do you even learn in that class?” 

“It’s a lot of analysis of governmental decisions on major issues,” I said. “It’s useless because I’m sure that every problem could be solved if the United States had a philosopher king.” 

“That’s not how government works.”

“It’s how it should work.”

“I’m not so sure,” Brendon said. “A philosopher king wouldn’t solve all of our problems. Everyone would need to get along, and that’s hard to do.” 

“I suppose you have a point,” I said. “The resolution of all political issues and world peace would require compromise, which is something that a philosopher king couldn’t bring about, but he or she might be able to facilitate…” 

Brendon clearly wasn’t listening to me. “I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles, and everyone would eat and be happy…” 

“He doesn’t even go here!” Hayley shouted all of a sudden. 

I didn’t believe her, but then again, Hayley did seem to know everybody at Kale. It was worth asking Brendon to make sure that Hayley was simply joking. Perhaps she was quoting a movie or something like that. “Brendon, do you even go to Kale?” I asked. 

“No, I just have a lot of feelings…” Brendon said. 

“Are you just quoting Mean Girls or are you really not a Kale student?” I asked again. 

“Both,” Brendon admitted. 

I didn’t know what to think. I had always assumed that Brendon was a Kale student, but clearly, I was wrong. My head began to spin as I thought about a few important questions. 

What else did I not know about Brendon? I thought that I knew him so well, but in the end, it’s impossible to truly know everything about someone. Maybe I would never know Brendon in the deepest sense, but that didn’t stop me from loving him. 

If Brendon didn’t go to Kale, then which college did he go to? There were five other colleges in the New Haven area alone, so he could be attending any of them. I could ask him, but what would stop him from lying to me again? He had lied to me about having lost his ID card on that very day. There was no way that he could have lost his Kale University ID when he didn’t even have one in the first place. 

Most importantly, could I truly trust my boyfriend? He had lied to me once - what would stop him from doing it again? I wanted to trust Brendon, but I couldn’t trust him if he couldn’t even tell me which school he went to. It was such a simple fact, but Brendon had lied to me about it. 

_This is why most people consider lying to be morally wrong_ , I thought. It was because of the fallout once you discover the truth. 

“I should go,” I told Brendon. “I have some homework to do.” It was only partially true, but if Brendon had lied to me, then what would stop me from lying to him? 

“Alright Ryan,” he said. “I’ll see you later tonight.” 

“See you tonight,” I said as I climbed out of the pool and headed into the locker room. As I changed into my regular clothes, I couldn’t stop myself from worrying. However, I was also consumed by my affection for Brendon. Despite my new knowledge that Brendon didn’t go to Kale, I still found him to be irresistible. 

I headed back to Flack Hall, afraid of falling apart.


	29. What is right and what is wrong?

A few days went by, and I had no idea what to do about Brendon. I was still performing at the Aubergine, but Brendon and I had hardly spoken since our date at the pool. I had too many questions about who Brendon truly was, and I had to answer them before I could deal with Brendon again. 

Shortly before my second Public Policy test, I met with Pete. He was sitting in the library, playing with his purple fidget spinner, and he quizzed me until I could recite every answer, whether I agreed with it or not. I could only hope that the same questions would appear on the test. “You’re getting a lot better at this,” Pete said. 

“Thanks Pete,” I said. 

Pete laughed and said, “Just wait until you get to the unit on electoral policy. I barely passed that test.” 

“If I remember correctly, that’s the next unit,” I said nervously. 

“Good luck,” Pete said. “By the way, I believe that you and I made a deal at the last Guyliner Club meeting.” 

“Are you talking about my offer to set you and Patrick up?” I asked. Pete nodded, and I said, “I’m still working on that.” 

“Alright, Ryan,” Pete said. He sighed and added, “I just get too lonely sometimes. Frank and Gerard are just so happy together, Laura has a wonderful girlfriend, and you and Brendon make a great couple. I’m the only member of the Guyliner Club who’s single, and it’s driving me crazy. Sometimes it seems like this whole university has found someone they love except for me.” 

“I get it, Pete,” I said. It was how I had felt before Brendon became my boyfriend. 

“I’m coming apart at the seams,” Pete complained. 

“I think I have a solution,” I said. “I’ll get Patrick to come to the Aubergine tonight, but then you have to take it from there. I can’t make him magically fall in love with you, because love doesn’t work like that. I can start the process though.”

“Yes, that sounds great.” 

Almost immediately, I began to question my own solution. How would I get Patrick to come to the Aubergine Dream? He wasn’t the type of person who would go there voluntarily, especially considering his reaction when he found out that I was going there. I considered telling Pete that I couldn’t do it, but I couldn't go back on my word. That would make me just as bad as Brendon. I had to find a way to make it work. 

After we finished studying, I returned to Flack Hall and climbed up to Room 27. Patrick was lying on top of his bed, lost in a daydream. He was wearing a Twenty One Pilots T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a fedora, and his glasses were perched on top of his nose as he stared up at the white stucco ceiling. I briefly wondered what exactly it was that was floating through Patrick’s mind. Mind reading wasn’t possible, but it was fun to speculate. Was it a brilliant new idea that was making Patrick act like this, or was it a problem in his life that needed to be solved? Perhaps it was a particular person that was on his mind. There was no way to tell, but I could always ask him. “Patrick, what are you thinking about?” I asked him. 

“Nothing,” Patrick lied. 

I still think that it’s crazy how easily lies can slip from someone’s mouth. For something that we generally consider to be wrong, people tend to do an awful lot of lying. If we consider it to be so wrong, then why does everyone continue to do it? “I know you were thinking about something,” I said. 

“It’s not important,” Patrick said. “Did you need something, Ryan?” 

“I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“What’s your question?” 

“Would you like to go to the Aubergine Dream with me tonight?”

“I don’t drink,” Patrick responded bluntly. 

“You don’t have to drink to hang out at the Aubergine,” I said. “I don’t drink most of the time, and I always have a lot of fun.” 

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Ryan.”

“I know you’ll have a good time if you come.” 

“I’m not going,” Patrick said as he folded his arms over his chest. “I’d probably just end up sitting in a corner by myself anyways.” 

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said. “There are lots of Kale students who go to the Aubergine. I’m sure you’ll know someone.” 

“I don’t know about that.”

“It’s true. “A bunch of Kale kids go to the Aubergine every night. There’s Spencer, Frank, Laura, Gerard, Pete…” 

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Pete’s going to be there?” he said. 

“He almost always makes an appearance,” I said. 

Patrick thought about it for a few minutes and then said, “I’ll give it a try.” 

Before Patrick could change his mind, I shouted, “Great! Let’s go!” I ran downstairs, and Patrick reluctantly threw on his coat and followed me. 

By the time we made it off campus, Patrick had changed his mind. “Why did I agree to this?” he asked as he followed me into the heart of Old Haven. 

“I don’t know,” I said. 

“Maybe I should go back home,” Patrick said. “I could stay inside, brew myself a nice cup of tea, call my parents, go to bed early, wake up at five o’clock in the morning as usual…” 

“You already said that you would come to the Aubergine, Patrick,” I said. “The most moral choice here is to follow through with what you said you were going to do.” 

“Who cares about morality?” Patrick said. “It’s too cold to be outside right now. I’m going back to Flack Hall.” 

He turned around and started to walk back towards campus, but I said, “The Aubergine’s right around the corner. We’re closer to the bar than we are to campus.” 

Patrick sighed and walked towards the Aubergine Dream, with its signature neon purple sign marking the entrance to the bar. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick said as he followed me inside. 

When he entered the Aubergine, Patrick took a few minutes to take in the atmosphere. The bar was crowded for a weeknight, and I could easily identify the many friends that I had made since my first trip to the Aubergine. Spencer and Brendon were waiting for me, but I had to show Patrick around before I met up with them. 

“Ryan, did you take me to a gay bar?” Patrick asked as he looked around the Aubergine one more time. 

“Sort of,” I answered. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Patrick asked. 

I didn’t bother to give him a response. “I think Pete’s getting a drink,” I said. “Let’s go talk to him.” 

I walked towards the other end of the bar, and Patrick followed me as he informed me that he was in fact completely heterosexual and had no idea why I had brought him to a gay bar. I tried my best to ignore Patrick as I greeted several of my friends and eventually found Pete. 

Pete had just ordered a strawberry daiquiri, and he was sipping on his drink when Patrick and I approached him. “Hey Ryan,” he said. “What’s up?” 

“I’m just here to perform, as usual.”

“Well, it’s always fun to hear you, Brendon, and Spencer play.”

“Hi Pete,” Patrick said nervously. His eyes immediately focused on Pete’s drink. “I thought you were nineteen,” he said. 

“Don’t say that so loudly, Patrick,” Pete said. “As far as anyone here is concerned, I’m twenty one.” 

“You’re not even old enough to drink,” Patrick argued. 

“It’s just for fun,” Pete said. “I’ve never gotten drunk in my life, so why does it matter if I’m technically not old enough to drink?” 

“It’s illegal!” Patrick exclaimed. 

“Don’t tell me that you’ve never broken a law before, Lunchbox,” Pete said with a smirk. 

“Unlike you, I’m not a criminal,” Patrick said. “Also, why are you calling me ‘Lunchbox?’” 

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “I think it’s cute. Besides, haven’t you jaywalked before? That’s technically illegal.” 

“I might have jaywalked once or twice,” Patrick admitted. 

“There you go,” Pete said. “We’re both lawbreakers.”

I walked away, knowing that I had technically fulfilled my promise to Pete. It was now up to him to make his dream a reality. I wasn’t certain that Pete and Patrick would end up together. They were complete opposites in terms of personality, but sometimes opposites attract. 

I ran across the room again to talk to Brendon, but on my way there, I ran into Spencer. “How’s it going, Ryan?” he asked me. 

“Can I ask you a question?” I said. 

“Sure,” Spencer said. “What is it?” 

“Do you know which college Brendon goes to?” 

Spencer thought about it and then said, “I don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about himself very much. I thought you would know, since you’re his boyfriend.” 

“All I know is that he doesn’t go to Kale.” 

“I can’t help you then,” Spencer said. “I have no idea what Brendon does when he’s not at the Aubergine.” 

I paced around the bar, uncertain of what to do. I had already decided that it was wrong of Brendon to lie to me, but what was the right response? What was I supposed to do now? 

After some thought, I made my decision. In the end, it didn’t matter what school Brendon went to. I would still love him whether he went to Kale University or Southern Connecticut State or Gateway Community College, so there was no need for me to know which college he went to other than satisfying my own curiosity. For a situation like this, it was best to forgive Brendon and move on with my life. 

I found Brendon sitting on the piano bench, attempting to play something that I couldn’t recognize on the piano. “What are you trying to play?” I asked him. 

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Brendon responded. “This is harder than I thought.” 

I laughed and said, “It gets easier with practice.” 

I sat next to Brendon on the piano bench as he asked, “Are you still mad at me for not going to Kale?” 

“That’s not what I was mad at you about,” I said. “I don’t care which college you go to. I was mad at you for lying to me about it, but I’ve forgiven you.” 

“I thought that you would be mad at me if you knew the truth,” Brendon said. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “The truth is what I’m searching for, along with wisdom and meaning. Why would I be mad at you for telling me the truth?” 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “It’s irrational.” 

“Have some composure, Brendon,” I said as I placed a kiss on his oversized forehead. 

Brendon blushed and said, “How can I have composure when you’re around, Ryan?” 

All of a sudden, Spencer leaned over the piano and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but it’s nine o’clock.” 

Brendon jumped up from the piano bench and grabbed a microphone, and the show began. My heart fluttered as I listened to him sing once again. No matter how many times I heard him, his voice never got old or tiresome. It had the same clarity and emotion that it always did, and his voice always managed to make me melt inside. 

After the show, Brendon and I chatted and made plans for another date, but I eventually had to head home. I had a test in Public Policy the next day, and I needed some rest if I wanted to do well. 

I wandered around the Aubergine in an attempt to find Patrick, but I couldn’t find him anywhere in the bar. I was about to call him to ask if he had gone home early when I spotted him in the middle of a very intense conversation with Pete. I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Patrick, it’s getting late. We should go home.” 

“Already?” Patrick said. “It feels like we just got here.” 

“It’s almost midnight,” I said, yawning. 

“I want to hang out with Pete for a little bit longer,” Patrick said. 

“I can walk home with you if you’d like,” Pete suggested. 

“That sounds great,” Patrick said. 

The three of us headed home, but Patrick started complaining about the cold as soon as we got outside. “For someone from Chicago, I would think that you would have a bit more cold tolerance,” I said. 

“Chicago is the greatest city in the world,” Patrick said. “Old Haven, on the other hand, is way too cold.” 

“Patrick, you can have my hoodie if you’d like,” Pete said. He took off his black hoodie and handed it to Patrick, who promptly put it on.   
“Thanks Pete,” he said. “You’re the best.” 

Eventually, Patrick, Pete, and I made it back to the Kale University campus, but we had to go our separate ways. Patrick gave Pete his hoodie back and gave him a quick hug, while I headed into Flack Hall. It seemed that my crazy plan had somehow worked, but regardless of what happened, it was nice seeing a new face in the Aubergine Dream.


	30. What is happiness?

The days passed by in a flurry as the weather got even colder, my schoolwork got even harder, and I fell even more in love with Brendon Urie. Patrick became a regular presence at the Aubergine Dream, although he rarely left Pete’s side, and for a while, it seemed like everything was going right. 

One especially cold day on campus, Patrick and I returned home from lunch to find a sign attached to the entrance to Flack Hall. Patrick stood on his tiptoes and read the sign, and neither of us could believe what it said. 

_The heating system in Flack Hall is currently broken. We are working on a solution, and it should be fixed soon. Thank you for your patience! - The Kale University Maintenance Team_

“This can’t be serious,” Patrick said. “Maybe the Greek Friendship Society is trying to pull a prank on us.” 

“Not even the Greek Friendship Society would dare to pretend that the heater is broken in the middle of winter,” I said. “It must be real.” 

“What are we going to do?” Patrick asked worriedly. 

All of a sudden, Hayley came up to us. “What’s all of the commotion about?” she asked. 

“Apparently the heating system in Flack Hall is broken,” I said. 

“I heard about that a few hours ago,” Hayley said. “I talked to the administration, and it should be fixed within two days.” 

“Two days?” Patrick said, panicked. 

Hayley nodded and added, “They suggested that we find another place to stay until they fix it, preferably the Freshman Quad or one of the nearby Greek houses. I don’t know about you, but I’m heading over to the Greek Friendship Society house to ask them if they’d be willing to take some of us.” 

“Why did it have to break at this time of year?” Patrick asked. 

“Nature hates us,” I said. It was the only reasonable explanation for a tragedy like this. 

“No kidding,” Hayley said. “What are you two going to do?” 

“I think I’ll go to the Greek Friendship Society house with you,” Patrick said. 

“I don’t know yet,” I said. There were plenty of other things that I had to worry about first, and I could always sleep in the library if I needed to. 

I headed off to Beauregard to work on my paper on The Zhuangzi for Ancient Philosophy, and once I finished, I proofread my work and went to the Aubergine. I presumed that Patrick would meet me there later, so I wasn’t concerned about going without him. I walked through Old Haven until I found the familiar neon purple sign, and as usual, Brendon was already there. 

“Ryro!” Brendon exclaimed with a goofy grin on his face. “What’s up?” 

“I’ve just been having a bad day,” I said. 

“What happened?”

“The Greek Friendship Society was incredibly noisy last night, so I couldn’t sleep, my Ancient Philosophy professor assigned a paper on The Zhuangzi, and now the heating system in my residence hall is broken and won’t be fixed for another two days,” I said. “I’ve heard that it might take even longer than that.” 

“That sounds terrible, but I’m sure it’s all going to work out,” Brendon said as he wrapped his arms around me. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. If I stay in Flack Hall tonight, I’ll probably freeze to death.” 

Brendon thought about it for a few minutes and then said, “You could stay in my apartment until the heating system is fixed.” 

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Thanks Brendon.” 

“No problem,” Brendon said. 

The rest of the evening went by normally, if there was such a thing as a normal evening at the Aubergine Dream. Spencer, Brendon, and I put on a great show, and after we were done, Brendon and I stayed at the Aubergine for a little while. Brendon had a few more drinks, while I told Brendon about my philosophy paper. He didn’t seem too interested in ancient Chinese philosophy, but he was trying his best to pay attention as I rambled on about the nature of reality, death, and knowledge. 

“I didn’t know what to write for the sixth page of my essay…” I said. 

“Wow, you ran out of ideas?” Brendon said sarcastically as he sipped on his peach and lime daiquiri. “I didn’t think that you would ever do that.” 

“So I analyzed The Death of Wonton, which we technically didn’t read in class, but I thought it was interesting, so I read it on my own,” I said, ignoring Brendon’s comment. 

“Wait, The Death of Wonton?” Brendon said. “Like the dumpling?” 

I sighed and explained, “It’s a very deep story about the dangers of going against the innate nature of things.” 

“But it’s about dumplings,” Brendon said. 

“No, it’s not,” I said. “Zhuangzi believed that happiness could be achieved through an understanding of the true nature of things, but I’m not sure that’s true.” 

“How can happiness be achieved then?” Brendon asked. 

“I think it’s through finding people and things that you love and spending time around them,” I said. “Even if you don’t fully understand those people and things, you can still be happy when you’re with them. Love can be irrational sometimes, but that doesn’t make it any less valid.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, Modern Day Socrates,” Brendon said. 

“Don’t be silly, Brendon,” I said. “A little bit of thought won’t kill you.”

He smiled and said, “But it’s how I want to go.” 

I kissed Brendon’s cheek and then asked, “Are you ready to leave yet?” 

“I think so,” Brendon said as he gulped down the rest of his drink and left the Aubergine. I followed him through the streets of Old Haven until we made it to Brendon’s apartment building. Brendon and I climbed a few flights of stairs, and he led me into his apartment. 

The apartment itself was rather cramped, but it was clear that Brendon had made it his home. Posters from various Broadway musicals hung on the walls, and a half-empty case of liquor lay on the floor. There was a pile of records in one corner, with a skateboard lying against it, and as I looked around, I found a whole room filled with various musical instruments. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Brendon said. “I would have cleaned it up if I knew that you were coming.” 

“It’s okay,” I said. “You have such a nice apartment.” 

“Thanks,” Brendon said. “It was the cheapest place in Old Haven, but I did touch it up a little bit.” 

I poked around the apartment for a little bit longer, but I felt especially drawn to the room with the instruments. There wasn’t a piano in there, unfortunately, but I did find a guitar, a bass, and various percussion instruments. Before long, Brendon found me plucking the guitar strings, attempting to play a simple melody. 

“It seems like you’ve found my favorite place in the whole world,” Brendon said with a smile. “If I hadn’t wasted all of my savings on my suit collection, I’d probably upgrade this room into a home studio. For now, I like it the way it is.” 

“Me too,” I said as I kept on plucking the guitar strings.

Brendon yawned and said, “I’m getting a little bit tired. Let’s head to bed.” 

Both of us got ready for bed, but as I wandered around the apartment, I realized that there wasn’t anywhere for me to sleep. I asked Brendon about this, and he replied, “I forgot about that, but I guess you could just sleep in my bed.” 

I crawled into bed next to Brendon, and he gave me a passionate kiss before we both fell asleep. His lips tasted amazing, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was experiencing true happiness at that moment. It was only proof that happiness was being with the people you loved, and for me, that person was Brendon. 

I woke up that morning in Brendon’s arms, thinking that I must have died and gone to heaven. I wasn’t sure if there was an afterlife or what it was like, but that was the only reasonable explanation for how I felt. Suddenly, my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my delusions. I reached over and picked it up, trying not to wake up Brendon, and I saw that I had received dozens of texts since I had left the Aubergine the night before. Almost all of them were from one person: Patrick Stump. 

_Ryan, where are you?_

_I can’t find you anywhere in the Aubergine. Where did you go? For that matter, where did the party go?_

_The Aubergine’s closing soon. Where are you?_

_I give up. I’m going back to the Greek Friendship Society house to see if you are there._

_WHERE ARE YOU?!_

I texted Patrick, “I’m at Brendon’s apartment. Please stop panicking,” and then put my phone away and shifted my body towards Brendon. I did have class in a few hours, but for now, I could enjoy this feeling. 

This arrangement continued for another three nights. Both Brendon and I were a little bit disappointed when they finally fixed it. I would have liked to stay in his apartment a little bit longer, but it was too far away from campus to be practical. 

“You know, Ryan, you can stay with me whenever you’d like,” Brendon said when I finally moved back into Flack Hall. He helped me carry all my stuff back into my dorm, and he even helped me rearrange my desk. I knew at that moment that I couldn’t possibly have a better boyfriend. 

“Maybe I should do that next year,” I said. “I’m sure it would be cheaper than paying for room and board at Kale, and I would get to spend more time with you.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Brendon said with a smile. 

Sophomore year seemed like a long way away, but when I thought about it, it wasn’t that far into the future. I only had a few more months left in my freshman year, and in September, I would start my second year at Kale. My freshman year had flown by, and it was all because I was too happy for my own good. 

Then again, being too happy is the best problem in the world to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know!   
> I just wanted to let you know that I posted a new Peterick/Frerard fanfiction. It's called Star Wars: Saviors of the Broken, and I'm really excited about it.   
> Thank you again for your support! :)


	31. What should Kale University's motto be?

About a week after the heating system was fixed, my philosophy professor reminded me of why I had come to Kale in the first place. I was sitting in a circle with my fellow students when Professor Caldwell told us that she was giving us a new assignment. At first, I was a little bit worried. Was this a paper? Would I be able to write another one of those? I felt as if the many papers that my other professors had assigned me were draining words from my brain. Does creativity ever run out? If such a thing is possible, then surely school was speeding up the process. Perhaps Brendon was right, and I would never use a day of my education, if only because that education was destroying my creativity and self-expression. 

My fears dissipated when Professor Caldwell handed out a description of the assignment. “As you can see, your assignment is to create a motto for Kale University,” she explained. “It is due at this time next week, and although there is no written component to the assignment, you must be able to verbally defend your choice in front of the class. The motto can be anything that you would like, but it must represent your values, the values of Kale University, or the values that a Kale University education should develop and demonstrate.” 

The girl sitting next to me raised her hand. “I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do,” she said. “Can you give us an example of a good motto, Professor?” 

“I believe that last year’s motto is a fantastic example,” Professor Caldwell said. “A student last year submitted ‘I don’t just want to be a footnote in someone else’s happiness’ for this project, which summed up both her own values and the independent spirit of the Kale University student body.” 

Already, my heart was racing. This was the moment that I had been waiting for. The idea that Kale philosophy students picked a new motto for the school each year had excited me ever since I first discovered the school. Now, it was my turn to propose a new school motto that would appear on all of the promotional material for the next year. Ideas buzzed around my brain, but none of them seemed quite right. 

Professor Caldwell continued to explain the project. “After all of you present your mottos next week, the philosophy department will select the three mottos that best represent Kale University and send them out to the remainder of the student body. Your peers will ultimately decide what Kale University’s motto will be for the upcoming school year.” 

The boy across from me raised his hand and asked, “Can you vote for your own motto?” 

“Let’s discuss that if you get to that stage, Eduardo,” Professor Caldwell said. “Are there any other questions?” 

That was possibly the worst question to ask in a room full of philosophy students. Professor Caldwell ended up answering our questions for the rest of class, some of which were only tangentially related to the motto assignment. I could hardly conceal my excitement. This was the kind of project that I had come to Kale University for. There were so many different words and phrases that could make good mottos, and as Professor Caldwell spoke, I tried to piece them together into a slogan that would embody everything that Kale University stood for. 

However, when I left Morals, Values, and Ethics, I realized that I didn’t really have any great ideas for a motto. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but everything that I could come up with seemed too wordy, too complicated to explain easily, or too much like a mindless regurgitation of something that I had read somewhere else. All of the best ideas had already been used, leaving only the leftovers for people like me. For an assignment that I had been so enthusiastic about, I struggled to come up with something worthy of such a project. 

That night, I went to the Aubergine to clear my mind. I explained my predicament to Brendon, who simply replied, “How am I supposed to help you with that?” 

“I don’t know,” I said. “You have a way with words sometimes.” 

“Words are knives that often leave scars,” Brendon said. 

“Don’t you see what I mean?” Ryan said. “If that wasn’t so negative, I might steal it and make it our school motto.” 

“Your school motto,” Brendon corrected me. “I don’t go to Kale.” 

“I almost forgot about that,” I said. “Anyways, can you please help me?” 

“You’re the philosopher, not me. I’m sure you’ll come up with something clever.”

He kissed me and then left me alone to ponder what exactly Kale University’s motto should be. I wandered over to the piano bench and softly pressed my fingers to the keys, hoping that the piano would let out a few of its many secrets. Unfortunately, it didn’t, but I wondered if I might be able to relate the piano to Kale. There were plenty of intelligent things that I could say about the instrument, and any of them could make a great motto. However, I couldn’t quite put the words together. 

Throughout the night, I asked Brendon if he had any ideas, but my boyfriend wasn’t able to help me. This was a problem that I would have to solve on my own. Eventually, I decided that a good night’s sleep would give my mind some rest, and I would be refreshed and ready to come up with a good motto the next morning. I left the Aubergine early, went to bed even before Patrick did, and reconsidered the motto assignment the next day. 

I met up with Pete at breakfast and explained my predicament to him, but he was just as useless as Brendon. “That sounds like such a neat project,” Pete said. “I should have taken freshman year philosophy just for that.” 

“What should I do for my motto?” I asked. 

“I know what I would do if I were in that class,” Pete said. “If death is the last appointment, then we’re all just sitting in the waiting room.” 

“Pete, that’s too depressing to be a school motto,” I said. 

“Thank you, Ryan,” Pete said. 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I said. 

After breakfast, I went back to Flack Hall and worked on some of my other homework, but the motto assignment haunted me throughout the day. What would happen if I couldn’t come up with something? I would surely fail the assignment, and I couldn’t afford that. Perhaps if I was smarter, then I could skip this project altogether without sacrificing my grade in the class. What defined intelligence anyways? Was it an affinity for learning, the ability to acquire more knowledge than others, or simply the ability to guess answers on multiple choice tests? I didn’t have any of those things, so perhaps I would never know. 

Around eleven o’clock in the morning, my mother called. I put my Principles of Ecology textbook down and picked up the phone. “Hello?” I said. 

“Ryan!” Mom exclaimed. “It’s so good to talk to you. How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine,” I said. “I was in the middle of doing homework though. Can we talk later?” 

“I suppose so, but I thought that you might like to talk to your mother for once.”

Why are all mothers so gifted in guilting their children into doing things for them? I sighed and said, “What is it, Mom?” 

“I remembered who Brendon Urie is.”

“How do you know him, Mom?” It seemed like I had finally found an answer to the question that I had been asking for so long. 

“Ryan, do you remember Amanda Mulligan? She went to high school with you.” 

“Sort of. She was in my science class once.” 

“I was talking to her dad at the grocery store the other day. He mentioned that Amanda was friends with Brendon Urie in high school, and that jogged my memory.” 

“Mom, how is any of this relevant?” 

“Brendon went to your high school. If I remember correctly, he graduated two years before you did and went to Yale University to study theater.” 

“You must be confused. Maybe there are two Brendon Uries.” 

“It’s not exactly a common name, sweetheart.”

An image flashed into my mind of a bespectacled, bracefaced teenager with a dorky haircut walking through the halls of Bishop Gorman High School alongside me. At first, my mind didn’t make the connection, but his oversized forehead gave it away. My mom’s words were true. 

I hadn’t paid much attention to Brendon back in high school, and I suddenly wished that I had. I could have fallen in love with him much sooner if I had only given him the chance. Did Brendon even know that we had gone to the same high school? If he did, he hadn’t said anything. Brendon didn’t exactly like to talk about his past, although I didn’t understand why. 

“Maybe you’re right, Mom,” I said. “I should probably tell you something about Brendon and I though.” 

“What is it?” 

“Brendon is my boyfriend now.”

“That’s wonderful, Ryan. I’m very happy for you.” 

“Thanks, Mom.”

My mother and I continued to chat for another few minutes while I considered the implications of what she had just told me. According to Mom, Brendon had gone to Yale after high school. Did this mean that Brendon was still at Yale? I had always thought that Yale was full of stuck up rich snobs, but perhaps Brendon was the exception that proves the rule. It was the only explanation that I could think of. 

I suddenly remembered the day that Dallon showed up at the Aubergine and the story that he had told about Brendon. Clearly, some of that story was true, or at least more than Brendon was willing to let on. Brendon did date Dallon, and he had gone to Yale. Was the rest of it true as well? 

I immediately dismissed the idea. Dallon was a liar, and Brendon wasn’t an alcoholic dropout. I knew him too well for that to be true. Dallon was only lying to keep the two of us apart. 

That night, I spoke to Brendon again at the Aubergine. “Just out of curiosity, which high school did you go to?” I asked him in a desperate attempt to confirm my mother’s claims. 

“Bishop Gorman High School,” Brendon answered. “It’s in Las Vegas.” 

“That’s where I went too,” I said. 

Brendon raised an eyebrow and said, “Really?” I nodded, and he said, “That’s quite a coincidence.” 

“My mom told me everything,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure that it was true. You looked different back then.” 

Brendon laughed and said, “Maybe a little bit. I got my braces off the day I graduated from high school, and I started wearing contacts and changed my haircut shortly after that. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty glad I did my little makeover before I started college. It really does show off my best features.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but agree. 

I looked towards the piano, and all of a sudden, a motto came to me. The words had been within me all along, but until that moment, I didn’t realize how perfectly they would work for this project. “The piano knows something I don’t know,” I said under my breath. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’ve come up with the perfect motto. The piano knows something I don’t know.” 

As I performed that night, I recited the motto over and over in my head, and I realized just how true it was. The piano had probably known Brendon’s secrets all along. It would always be one step ahead of me, knowing something that I didn’t, but as long as I had my friends and my boyfriend beside me, that wouldn’t matter.


	32. Can I predict the future?

I presented my motto to the class the next week, and to my surprise, Professor Caldwell seemed to like it. The students were a little bit more lukewarm, but did that matter? The philosophy professors were the ones who would decide my grade, along with whether my motto would be on the final ballot. It was more important to ensure that they liked my motto.

At lunch that day, Patrick insisted on gathering just about everyone we knew together. We needed the largest table in the dining hall to fit everyone, and it didn’t even include everyone that Patrick knew. Joe had a class during that time, and Gerard was giving a tour to a group of prospective students, but all of our other friends were there. 

“What’s the point of all of this, Patrick?” I asked. 

“I have an announcement to make,” Patrick said. 

“What is it?” Andy asked. 

Patrick sighed and said, “I’ve been reflecting on myself and my life for the last year, and I suppose that’s what college is for…” 

“Just get to the point,” one of Patrick’s friends from chemistry said. 

“I’m bisexual,” Patrick said. 

“We know, Patrick,” all of us said at once. 

Patrick looked around in confusion as Frank asked, “Did you really expect that to be a secret?” 

“How did you know already?” Patrick asked. 

“I knew when I first took you to the Aubergine,” I said. 

“I knew it from ‘Hi, I’m Patrick,’” Pete said. Patrick was speechless, so Pete made an attempt to console him. “Trick, we all support you, but you didn’t have to make this so dramatic. Everyone already knows that you’re bi.” 

“To be honest, I was waiting for you to come out,” Andy said. 

“Me too,” I said. In fact, I was a little bit surprised that he hadn’t done it earlier. 

“Well, you guys sure made this easy,” Patrick said as he adjusted his glasses. 

Pete hugged Patrick and said, “It’s what I do best.” 

All of us chatted about our classes for the rest of lunch, and nobody brought up Patrick Stump’s sexual orientation again. To be honest, I was glad that Patrick had finally come to terms with his bisexuality. I personally found it a bit unfair that straight, cisgender people didn’t have to deal with coming out, but it seems that the world is almost never fair. 

A few days later, Patrick and I went to the Aubergine Dream together once again. Over the last several weeks, Patrick had become a regular at the Aubergine. It was nice to have him there, although he could still be a little uptight at times. Once we got there, I made my way over to Brendon, while Patrick ran off to go talk to Pete.

“Ryan!” Brendon shouted as he waved to me. 

“Hey Brendon,” I said. “What’s up?” 

“Not much,” Brendon said. “What about you?” 

“I had to take a test in Principles of Ecology today,” I complained. “I think I did well though.” 

“I’m glad,” Brendon said. “I found a new song for us to play. Do you want to see it?” I nodded, and Brendon grinned and ran off. When he returned, he was holding a piece of sheet music. “It’s another love song just for you,” he said as he gave me the music. 

“You’re so sweet, Brendon,” I said as I gave him a peck on the cheek. 

“It’s all for you, Ryan,” Brendon said. 

“So how’s Yale treating you?” I asked. 

Brendon gave me a strange look, as if he didn’t understand the question. It only lasted for a moment, and then he said, “Everything’s fine, I guess. I’d rather not talk about it.” 

“That’s fine,” I said. “School’s not the world’s most interesting subject.” 

“No kidding,” Brendon said. “I don’t know about you, Ryan, but I’m in the mood for dancing. Would you like to join me?” 

Brendon had already seen my terrible dancing, but clearly, he didn’t seem to mind it. I always preferred to watch, but I didn’t want to upset my boyfriend. “Sure, why not?” I said. 

The two of us headed onto the dancefloor, and we danced wildly until it was nearly nine in the afternoon. Brendon stopped occasionally to get another drink, but even as the evening went on, he never seemed to lose any energy. I quickly lost myself in both the music and the feeling of Brendon being so close to me. Before long, I could barely think at all. 

The clock struck nine, and Brendon ran off to get another drink before the show started. I went over to the piano bench and talked with Spencer for a little while, but both of us began to get worried when five minutes passed and Brendon still hadn’t returned. “Should I go find him?” Spencer asked. 

“No, I’ll do it,” I said. I got up from the piano bench and wandered around the bar, searching for Brendon’s beautiful face. At first, I couldn’t find Brendon, but I did manage to find Pete and Patrick. 

“Thanks for helping me study for the stats quiz, Patrick,” Pete said. “You’re like an angel with no wings.” 

“So like a person?” Patrick replied. 

“You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Whatever,” Pete said. “I just think that you’re an awesome person, as well as the cutest boy at Kale University by far.” 

Patrick blushed and said, “Thanks Pete.”

“You’re welcome,” Pete said, grinning. “It looks like I won the ‘Make Patrick Blush’ game though.” Patrick simply shook his head. “Patrick, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” 

“What is it?”

“Will you go out with me, Trick?”

Patrick froze for a moment before he said, “Yes, of course. I like you a lot, Pete. You’re such a great friend to me, and I think I was into you for a long time. I just wasn’t willing to admit it.” 

“I like you too,” Pete said as he came closer to Patrick. “You’re irresistible, Lunchbox. I’m lucky to have someone like you in my life.” 

The two of them were close enough that they could kiss, and in retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have interrupted them by saying, “Hey, do either of you happen to know where Brendon is?” 

Patrick turned around, adjusted his fedora, and said, “No, I have no idea where he went.” 

“Me neither,” Pete said. 

“I’m right here, Ryan!” Brendon said as he snuck up behind me. 

“Hi Brendon,” I said, smiling. 

Brendon took another sip of his peach and lime daiquiri, took my hand, and said, “Come on. It’s already nine in the afternoon. We should get started.” 

The show went well, although my eyes kept darting over to Pete and Patrick, who didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Brendon, Spencer, and I. However, I was glad that I had set the two of them up. It was clear from the way that they looked at each other that they would make a great couple, and hopefully, they would be able to make each other happy. After all, what was the point of happiness if I couldn’t spread it to others? 

After the show, Brendon and I stayed at the Aubergine for a little while before we went our separate ways. On the way home, I got the chance to talk to Patrick. “I can’t believe that Pete asked me out,” Patrick said as a small smile spread across his face. 

“I’m sure that you two will be a cute couple,” I said. “Do you two know what you’re doing for your first date yet?” 

“No,” Patrick said. “We were going to talk about it, but then we got sidetracked. He said that he would text me tomorrow. I’m a little bit nervous, to be honest.” 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” I said. “I’m sure it will go well.” 

“I’ve never been on a date before.”

“I hadn’t been on a date before when I went out with Brendon for the first time, and it went really well. Everything will work out.” 

“How do you know what constitutes a ‘good date’ if you’ve only dated one person?” 

It was a fair question. I had only dated Brendon, but that still made me more experienced than my roommate. “I don’t, but I do know that Brendon makes me happy. If your date with Pete makes you happy, then you’ll know that he’s right for you.” 

“Being around Pete always makes me happy,” Patrick said with a smile. 

“That’s how I know that your relationship with him is going to work,” I said. “I may not be the best person to be giving you relationship advice, but I believe that there’s no reason for you to be nervous. Pete seems like he really likes you, and if he makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

Patrick and I entered Flack Hall, and we headed up the staircase and into Room 27. I crashed onto my bed and started daydreaming about Brendon, as I often did. I dreamt of my future, after Brendon graduated from Yale and I graduated from Kale. There was no doubt in my mind that the two of us would still be together at that point. We would be together for the rest of our lives, no matter what happened. 

Of course, I couldn’t predict the future, if we assume that time is linear. There was no way to know for sure what would happen the next day, and I definitely couldn’t tell what would happen years in the future. I couldn’t know for sure that Patrick and Pete’s date would go well, and I couldn’t be certain that something awful wouldn’t happen someday.

Despite all of that, I felt confident that everything would be fine. Brendon and I loved each other, and that would overcome any obstacles that fell in our way. I fell asleep, dreaming of true happiness, or what I thought that looked like at the time. I didn’t know much of anything, but it’s fun to fantasize, isn’t it?


	33. What does perfection look like?

A few weeks went by, and slowly but surely, spring arrived. The snow melted, and soon, the days grew warmer, and flowers began to sprout all across campus. When I wasn’t studying or hanging out with my friends, I was with Brendon, and I couldn’t help but fall for him even harder than I already had. 

Patrick, on the other hand, went on his date with Pete, and before long, the two of them were a couple. Pete and Patrick were inseparable, even if Pete couldn’t convince Patrick to start coming to our Guyliner Club meetings. “I don’t even wear guyliner, and it’s at the same time as the Environmentalist Society meetings,” Patrick explained to Pete and I one day at the Aubergine. 

“You could always quit the Environmentalist Society,” Pete suggested. “You’re not even a biology major anymore.” 

“First of all, you don’t have to be a biology major to support environmental protection,” Patrick said. 

“Guyliner’s more important anyways,” Pete said. “I still think that you should quit.” 

“Guyliner is not more important!” 

“Yes it is.” 

Patrick ignored him and continued to speak. “I haven’t officially changed my major yet anyways. I’m considering sticking with biology.” 

“Really?” I said. I hadn’t heard this particular piece of news yet, even though Patrick and I lived together.

Patrick nodded and said, “I’ll probably still be a biology major, but I’ll find a different career. I don’t want to be a veterinarian anymore, although I might like another job in the field.” 

“That makes sense,” Pete said. “There’s nothing that says that you have to be a veterinarian if you major in biology. There are lots of biological careers out there. I’m still planning to stick with my plan though.” 

“What’s your plan?” Patrick asked. 

“I’m going to go to law school after I graduate from Kale,” Pete said. “After that, I’ll be a lawyer, and then once I have some experience, I’ll run for public office. Someday, I could even be the President of the United States.” 

“That’s pretty ambitious, Pete,” Patrick said. 

“At the very least, I’ll be a better president than Trump,” Pete said. “For that matter, you’d be better than him too. Maybe you should run, Trick.” 

Patrick shook his head and said, “I’m not old enough, I have no experience, and I probably wouldn’t win anyways.” 

“I’d vote for you,” Pete said, smiling. 

Patrick blushed. “Thanks Pete,” he said. 

“I still think that the United States would be much better off if a philosopher king was in charge…” I interjected. 

“Shut up, Ryan,” Pete said. 

Brendon appeared out of nowhere and exclaimed, “Pete, don’t you dare tell my boyfriend to shut up! He has the right to express his opinions.” 

“Thanks, Brendon,” I said. 

“Ryan’s totally wrong though, and Laura and I have been telling him that all semester,” Pete argued. 

“Haven’t you read The Republic?” I asked. 

“That was written over two thousand years ago,” Pete said. “It doesn’t apply to modern society.” 

As a proud student of ancient philosophy, I was more than a little bit offended. “A lot of ancient ideas can apply to today’s world,” I said. “Democracy wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the Greeks.”

“I have an idea,” Brendon interrupted. 

“What is it?” Patrick asked. 

“We should all go on a double date,” Brendon suggested as he took a large gulp of his drink. “As long as Ryan and Pete don’t get into an argument, I think that it would be really fun. I haven’t been on a double date in forever.” 

“That does sound like fun,” I said. I then turned to Pete and Patrick and asked, “What do you two think?” 

“I’ve never been on a double date before,” Patrick said. “What should we do for it?” 

“Let’s go see a movie,” Pete suggested. 

All of us agreed that this was a great idea, so we made plans to see The Babylon Initiative that weekend and go out for dinner afterwards. All throughout that week, I couldn’t help but daydream about our plans. I had been on plenty of dates with Brendon by that point, but this one seemed especially exciting, if only because Patrick and Pete, two of my closest friends, would be there. 

Patrick and I met Brendon and Pete at the movie theater that Saturday, and all four of us found seats next to each other in the theater. The movie itself wasn’t terribly exciting, and it didn’t help that Pete and Patrick talked through most of it. It was impossible to hear exactly what was happening in The Babylon Initiative with Patrick and Pete babbling next to me, so I spent those two hours cuddling with Brendon. Having his arms around me was a wonderful feeling, so I didn’t even mind that Pete couldn’t seem to shut up, or that Brendon was spilling his popcorn everywhere. The whole experience felt like bliss to me. 

On the way to the restaurant, I felt a sudden urge to tell Brendon how I felt about him. I wanted to scream that I loved him from the top of my lungs, but something else held me back. What if Brendon didn’t love me? I couldn’t tell Brendon that I loved him until I was certain that he would say it back. I thought that Brendon loved me, but I couldn’t be sure. Unfortunately, certainty seems to be in short supply sometimes. 

I stayed silent as I reached over and held Brendon’s hand. Even though I wasn’t sure if Brendon loved me or not, I was happy with our relationship. I was convinced that the two of us were meant to be, and that was enough. 

I hardly knew a thing about him, but I loved him anyway. 

The four of us sat down to eat, and Pete and Brendon struck up a conversation about music while I continued to daydream. I thought about the idea of perfection, which so many people claimed did not exist at all. What would it look like if it was out there? My mind immediately thought of the people that surrounded me, and the happiness that flowed between us. If that wasn’t perfection, I didn’t know what else it could possibly be. 

After some consideration, I decided that my life was already perfect. Yes, there were minor annoyances, but they were trivial in comparison to all of the wonderful things that were happening. I had supportive and caring friends, I went to a great school, and best of all, I had found someone that I truly loved. 

Of course, good times like these could never last with my luck. Perhaps this paradise was only temporary, and some horrible stroke of luck was just around the corner. Every time I had encountered something like this in the past, my bad luck had kicked in and reminded me just how miserable life could be. However, I was convinced that this was different. I had Brendon by my side, and as long as I had him, I could do anything. 

“What did you guys think of the movie?” Brendon asked us all of a sudden. 

“I thought it was okay,” Patrick said. “It wasn’t anything special, but it was enjoyable enough.” 

“Me too,” Pete said. 

“Did you even watch the movie?” I asked Pete. “You were talking to Patrick the whole time.” 

“I was kind of paying attention,” Pete said. “What about you, Ryan? What did you think?”

“I couldn’t figure out what was going on with you and Patrick talking throughout the whole thing,” I said. 

“You didn’t miss much,” Brendon said. “The Babylon Initiative was okay, but it wasn’t great.” 

“I agree,” Patrick said. “If I wanted to watch a good movie, I would have just stayed home and watched Ghostbusters for the forty second time.” 

“I’d watch that with you,” I said. 

“Me too,” Brendon said. “Ghostbusters is such a great movie. I watched it a ton when I was a kid.” 

“I think it’s settled then,” Pete said. “Next time we do this, we’re going to Patrick’s dorm room, and we’re watching Ghostbusters on his computer.” 

“That’s not a terribly exciting date, Pete,” Patrick said as he adjusted his glasses. 

“Who cares?” Pete said, grinning. “I’m still spending time with you.” 

How could Pete and Patrick be so cute? I’d thought that they might make a nice couple, but now that they were together, they could be sickeningly sweet sometimes. Then again, Brendon and I could be just as bad as they were, and being too cute was a good problem to have. 

Patrick laughed and said, “I’m so glad that we’re together, Pete.” 

“Me too,” Pete said as he brushed his lips against Patrick’s. 

The two of them were living proof that everything works itself out eventually. I wasn’t sure that setting the two of them up was the best idea at first, but in the end, it made both of them happy. Seeing both Pete and Patrick in a joyful, loving relationship only added to my happiness. 

All of the perfection in my life let me ignore the stroke of bad luck that I was so certain would arrive eventually. Everything was going right for once in my life, and I could only hope that it would last. How can you make happiness last anyways? It’s easy to generate in the short term, but it always seems to fizzle away. All I could do was hope that this feeling would last forever. 

After Patrick, Brendon, Pete, and I finished eating, we went to the Aubergine. “I heard that you two went on a double date with Patrick and Pete,” Spencer said when we arrived. “How did that go?” 

“It was wonderful,” Brendon said as he wrapped his arms around me. “I had a great time.” 

“Me too,” I said as I gave Brendon a quick kiss. 

“You know that I always love hanging out with my favorite person in the world, Ryan,” Brendon said. 

“You’re my favorite person too, Brendon,” I said. 

As Brendon, Spencer, and I prepared for our show, I suddenly became a little bit worried. What if Brendon didn’t mean what he said? What if he didn’t love me? What if I was only wasting my time with him? My fears seemed unfounded, but I couldn’t help but panic over them anyways. 

In the end, it was easier to ignore my worries and trust my boyfriend. I took a deep breath and let all of those fears flow out of me. I had found a truly perfect life, so why was I still so worried? Everything was right in the world, and I was just being my nervous self. I had to leave that part of myself behind if I wanted to experience all of the beauty and wonder that my perfect world had to offer. 

For a while, it seemed like my happiness really would last. Another month went by in a flurry, and before long, I forgot about all of my worries. There was no reason to dwell on such insignificant things, so I didn’t. I chose to focus on the happier parts of life. Why would I even think about vice when there was so much virtue in the world? 

Then, one day at the Aubergine, my luck finally turned on me.


	34. Do people have free will?

At first, everything seemed ordinary when I walked into the Aubergine one day in early April. All of the regulars were there, crowding around each other and gossiping incessantly. Gerard was at the center of it all, telling the others about his senior project, which he had managed to turn into two projects. “I couldn’t decide whether I should do a series of paintings of the members of the Guyliner Club or a graphic novel, so I did both,” Gerard said with a terrifying grin etched across his face. “It was a lot of work, but I think I created two works of true art.” 

When I first heard that, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to consider what “true art” was, but I had to find my boyfriend first. I walked past Gerard in an attempt to find Brendon, but I quickly realized that he was nowhere to be found. At first, I wasn’t worried. Brendon occasionally disappeared like this, but he always managed to stand out in a crowd. I walked past Laura and a few other Kale students plotting to throw bricks through a Starbucks window, and I found Pete asking Spencer about the arcade machine that he supposedly kept in his dorm room. However, I couldn’t find Brendon. 

As it turned out, he was hiding behind the piano, gulping down a can of beer. “Brendon, what are you doing back here?” I asked him. 

“Ryan,” he slurred. “I’m so glad you’re here! Heidi is so mean. She told the bartender that I couldn’t have anything stronger than this goddamn beer.” All of a sudden, he poured the beer all over himself. I gave him a confused look as I sat next to him. 

“How many of those have you had?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” Brendon said. “I lost track a while ago.” He looked away for a second and said, “Ryro, have you ever heard Patrick sing? He has a soul voice. Yo, watch this, it’s like YeAaAaAaAaAahhh!” 

“I’ve never heard Patrick sing,” I said, trying to suppress a laugh. I had never seen Brendon this drunk before. In fact, sometimes it seemed like no matter how much he drank, he could never get drunk.

Brendon looked around again, and suddenly exclaimed, “Ryan, you took my beer away!” 

“No, you poured it all over yourself,” I said. 

“Stop lying to me!” Brendon shouted. “You took my beer away! Why the hell would you do that?!” 

“I didn’t take your beer away,” I said. Both lying and stealing were immoral, and Brendon knew that I would never do anything like that. _He would know that if he was sober,_ I corrected myself. 

All of a sudden, Brendon started to sob. “You’re just like Dallon,” he whined. “You’re just pretending to love me just so that you can betray me by taking my beer away!” 

I wrapped my arms around Brendon and said softly, “I would never do that. As I said, you poured it on yourself.”

“Whatever,” Brendon said as he tried to wipe away his tears. “It’s just not fair. Everyone else is so mean to me, but not you, Ryan. You’re my favorite.” 

“Thanks, but how is everyone else mean to you?” I asked. 

Brendon suddenly began to cry again. “It started with Dallon,” he said. “He and I were together during our freshman year, and I thought that he loved me, but when I started coming here, he broke up with me. He said that I drank too much, and that I needed help, but I don’t! It’s not my fault that I can never seem to stop once I start.” 

“Brendon, it’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to cry.” However, I was beginning to panic a little bit myself. Could Dallon’s whole story be true? 

“Then, it was all of those people at Yale,” Brendon said. “My grades kept going down and down and down, so I had to drop out. I want to go to college, Ryan! I get so jealous whenever you talk about Kale, but I didn’t even finish one year at Yale. My mom and dad were so proud of me - they thought it was dope that I got into an Ivy League like Yale, but they were so mad when I dropped out. They told me that I was throwing away my future, and they’re probably right. I have a job and a boyfriend, but I still get lonely. I wanted to be a Broadway star, Ryan. Don’t you think I should be on Broadway?” 

“You do have a gorgeous voice,” I said. It was nearly impossible to be a supportive boyfriend when I was falling apart myself. 

“I would see my name in lights, and you would be the narrator telling another tale of the American dream,” Brendon said. “It’ll never happen though. All of those theaters only hire people with college degrees. You have a better chance of getting a part than I do, and you can’t dance at all!” Brendon tried to laugh through his tears before he started to bawl again. “I’m turning twenty one on the twelfth,” he said. 

“Happy early birthday,” I told him. 

“Don’t be silly, Ryan,” Brendon said. “You’ll see me on my birthday. I see you everyday, and that’s the way it should be. Anyways, I don’t think you know how hard it is. I don’t want to be like this, but I can’t help myself. Every time I come here, I think I can have a few drinks and then stop, but I can’t. Sometimes, I can’t even feel anything at all when I drink. I’ve ruined my own life, Ryan, and I...I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Brendon burst into tears again, and I held him even closer. “I think that we can find a way out of this,” I told him. “There are lots of people out there that could help you.” 

“I don’t need help,” Brendon said. “I can do it myself. Now, I think I’ll get myself a daiquiri, since you took my beer away…” 

“You poured it on yourself,” I said, but Brendon didn’t listen as he walked away. Meanwhile, I sat on the piano bench and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself from breaking down completely. 

At first, I was furious. I was furious at Brendon for lying to me so many times, at Dallon for telling me the truth, and at myself for not listening to either of them. I should have known that Brendon was like this, but I couldn’t stay mad for long. 

My next thought was that I had turned out exactly like my mother. She had married an alcoholic, only to have a son who fell in love with an alcoholic. It was only proof that history repeats itself over and over again. I didn’t like to think about my father much, but childhood memories of hospital visits and the smell of liquor creeped up from the back of my head as I thought of Brendon. 

Was this all just fate? I hated to think that God or the gods or society or genetics had pushed Brendon into his addiction, but I also couldn’t believe that Brendon would choose this for himself. Perhaps we had free will in some ways and not others, and in this case, I doubted that Brendon had chosen his path, just like I hadn’t chosen to fall in love with him. It was purely destiny. 

I remembered all of the wonderful times that I had spent with my boyfriend, from Thanksgiving to our first date to our trip to the pool. He was worse than nicotine, but I needed Brendon in my life. Letting Brendon go wasn’t an option, so I had to help him somehow. However, I was clueless as to what I was supposed to do. If my mother, the strongest person I knew, couldn’t help my father, then how was I, a lovesick but terrified eighteen year old, supposed to help Brendon? It seemed like an impossible task. 

“Ryan, are you okay?” Spencer asked all of a sudden. 

“I’m not okay,” I said. “I promise.” 

“Well, the show’s starting soon,” Spencer said. “Hopefully, that will make you feel better.” 

I was tempted to tell Spencer about everything that had just happened, but there was no point. Brendon would tell Spencer on his own terms, if he hadn’t already done that. I didn’t think that anything could improve my mood, but when I glanced at the clock, I saw that it was nine in the afternoon. It was time for us to play. 

As it turned out, Brendon’s drunkenness didn’t affect his singing at all. He struggled to remember a few of the lyrics, but his voice still sounded amazing. I couldn’t figure out how he did it. As usual, I just played along, wondering if the piano knew something that I didn’t. Perhaps it had been trying to tell me this all along, and I was just trying to shield myself from the truth. 

I walked home alone that night. I couldn’t stay for too long - I had too much on my mind. As I walked home, my thoughts drifted back to Brendon. Perhaps all of us had an addiction. He was addicted to alcohol, and I was addicted to Thai food and asking deep questions. What was the difference? Brendon’s addiction was certainly more harmful than mine, but I was sure that I could help him get past it somehow. 

The only problem was that I had no idea how to help my boyfriend, especially since it was perfectly clear that he didn’t want my help. What was I supposed to do now? Was it even moral to help Brendon if he didn’t want me to help him? How could I help Brendon move past his addiction? I had to figure something out, but it was late, and I needed some sleep first. I opened the door to Flack Hall, entered the building, and climbed upstairs until I entered my dorm room. 

Someday, I would find a way to help Brendon, but for now, I was hopeless.


	35. What is addiction?

A few days later, I decided to go shopping in downtown Old Haven. I needed to buy a gift for Brendon’s birthday, and although I had no idea what to get him, I knew that I could find something in one of those little shops downtown. Immediately after Public Policy finished, I ran out of the Beiju History Center and went straight into the city to search for a present.

I walked past the Aubergine on my way into town, and it seemed a little bit odd to see the familiar neon purple sign during the day. I thought about Brendon and wondered where he was. Could Brendon be inside the bar, or was he in his apartment? I briefly imagined Brendon in class at Yale before I remembered that he had dropped out. He definitely wasn’t there. 

I spent a few minutes considering where to go first. What should I get Brendon anyways? I had no clue, so I thought of all of the things that Brendon might enjoy. However, I couldn’t come up with any good ideas. 

On the corner of 4th and Fremont Street, I found a tiny bagel shop, and upon smelling a whiff of asiago and cream cheese, I went inside. I bought myself a bagel and took a seat next to the window. All sorts of people walked by as I ate, from large groups of Kale students laughing with their friends to two parents trying to keep their kids under control to old, bitter men and women waiting to cross the street. I watched each and every one of them, hoping that I could find some way to solve my predicament. Admittedly, stopping to eat wasn’t exactly helping me find a gift for Brendon, but I needed a few moments to think. 

The words that Brendon had said over the past few nights replayed in my head. I still had a hard time believing that Brendon was an alcoholic, but perhaps I was just in denial. Was this the life that I wanted? Did I want to spend the rest of my days pining for an addict? I wasn’t sure, but as I thought about it, I realized that Brendon truly was my soulmate. I would be a fool to leave my other half. 

In the end, love was a dangerous blues. It wasn’t the perfect paradise that I’d thought that it was, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t worth experiencing. Even if Brendon was an alcoholic who had dropped out of Yale, I still needed him. It was like I was addicted to Brendon. 

I was in no hurry to cure myself of my own addiction, but I did need to find a way to help him. Even though he denied it, Brendon desperately needed my help. However, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I needed more time.

After some consideration, I decided to wait until after Brendon’s birthday. Whatever I was planning to do could wait, and I didn’t want to ruin my boyfriend’s special day. I imagined all of the ways that we could spend his birthday together, and as I daydreamed, I remembered why I had come into Old Haven in the first place. 

I finished my bagel and left the shop, and as I wandered around the town, I decided that all of us were addicted to something. I could hardly fault Brendon for his addiction when everyone had something that they just could never get enough of. I probably had even more addictions than he did. Waiting until after his birthday was the best option in this situation. His drinking was definitely an issue, but it wasn’t an urgent one, or at least that was what I told myself. Besides, as an addict with a pen, I probably wouldn’t be able to help him very much. 

Eventually, I stumbled across the music shop that Brendon had spent so much time in during our first date. I entered the shop and looked around, wondering if there might be something inside that could make a good gift. I walked around the store, looking through rows of records and musical memorabilia. At first, I couldn’t find anything, but I then remembered all of Brendon’s records, sitting in his apartment without a record player for him to listen to them on. 

I found a record player for sale, and instantly, I knew what I was going to get Brendon. I picked up the record player and brought it to the counter, but on my way there, I checked the price tag. The turntable was nearly one hundred dollars, and I didn’t have that much money with me. I wasn’t certain that I could buy it at all without jeopardizing my ability to pay for my room and board. 

I reluctantly put the record player back and headed back to Flack Hall to check if I had some more loose change lying around somewhere. Why did I always have so many problems with money? I suspected that it was just another piece of my bad luck. When I entered Room 27, Patrick was already there, studying for an upcoming statistics quiz. I looked around the dorm room and checked how much money was in my bank account, but I barely had enough to pay for my next room and board payment in my bank account, and the only cash that I had was the forty five dollars and eighty two cents in my wallet. I considered waiting until after I got my next payment to buy Brendon’s gift, but I wouldn’t get paid again until after his birthday. There was only one option left. 

“Patrick, can I borrow some money?” I asked. “I promise I’ll pay you back.” 

Patrick looked up from his textbook. “What do you need it for?” he asked. 

“I’m buying a gift for Brendon’s birthday,” I explained. 

“I didn’t know that his birthday was coming up,” Patrick said as he adjusted his glasses. 

“He’s turning twenty-one on the twelfth,” I said. 

“I suppose I can contribute a little,” Patrick said. He handed me a five dollar bill and said, “Here you go, Ryan.” 

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” It wouldn’t completely cover the cost of the record player, but it was a start. 

“Don’t bother,” Patrick said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s a gift for Brendon, and I’m only doing this because I care about both of you.” 

“Thanks Patrick,” I said, smiling. 

“No problem,” Patrick said. He turned on an Elvis Costello song, and said, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m studying for a stats quiz. Pete said that he wanted us to study together later, but I somehow doubt that we’re going to get anything done, so I need to make sure that I’m ready for the quiz before I leave.” 

Patrick had certainly been generous, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more money if I wanted to buy the record player. I considered buying Brendon a cheaper gift, but it didn’t seem like enough. I needed something grand like the record player to show my soulmate just how much I loved him. I was a poor college student, but I had to find a way to make it work. 

All of a sudden, I came up with an idea. I hated asking for money, since I didn’t want to be so dependent on my wealthier friends, but this was the only way out of the predicament that I had created for myself. I sprinted over to the Greek Friendship Society house and knocked on the door of the little brick building. As expected, Gerard answered the door. 

“Did you change your mind about joining the Greek Friendship Society?” he asked me. 

I didn’t answer right away, since I couldn’t help but notice that he had dyed his hair a new color. “I like the red hair,” I said. 

“Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question,” Gerard said as he brushed his hair away from his face. 

“I’m not joining the Greek Friendship Society.”

“Then why are you here?” 

I paused for a moment, and then said, “I’m trying to buy a gift for Brendon. His birthday is coming up.” 

“Why do you need me for that?” 

“I want to buy him a record player, but I don’t have enough money to get it,” I explained. “What is the purpose of money anyways? Does it do the world any good? John Lennon once told us to imagine no possessions, and I’m starting to wonder if that might be the best solution, but then how would I show Brendon how much I care about him? I’m just not sure…” 

“How much money do you need?” Gerard interrupted. 

“Fifty dollars,” I said. 

Gerard dug through his wallet and handed me a wad of money. “That should be enough for you to buy the record player,” he said. 

“Thanks Gerard,” I said. How could he just give away money like that? It amazed me that Gerard had so much money at his disposal, yet he never acted like he was spoiled. Instead, he was one of the nicest people I knew. 

“No problem,” Gerard said. “If I don’t see Brendon on his birthday, make sure to wish him a happy birthday for me.” 

“I certainly will,” I said. 

“I should probably buy him a gift myself,” Gerard said. “Maybe after I put the finishing touches on my graphic novel, I’ll head into downtown Old Haven and see what I can find.” 

“Sounds good, Gerard,” I said. “Are you coming to the Aubergine tonight?” 

“I think so,” Gerard said. “I’ll see you tonight if I don’t have too much homework.” 

“See you soon,” I said. I stuffed the money that Gerard had given me into my wallet and headed back into town. This time, I couldn’t help but appreciate the warm air and gorgeous foliage that lined the streets of Old Haven. It was a beautiful day in the city, and even though there were certainly problems in my relationship with Brendon, all of the beautiful things around me reminded me that everything would work itself out in the end. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that Brendon would battle his addiction and emerge victorious. 

I walked into the music shop and ran right back over to the record player. I took it to the counter and purchased it, thrilled that I had finally found the perfect birthday present for Brendon. I was already certain that he would love his gift, and I couldn’t wait to see the smile on his face when he opened it. 

I carried Brendon’s present back to Flack Hall, and when I returned to my dorm room, I lay on my bed and thought about our relationship. It wasn’t a perfect love story, even if I liked to pretend otherwise. We both had our addictions, but that didn’t mean that we weren’t meant to be together. We had a connection that just couldn’t be broken. I could feel in my heart that Brendon was my soulmate, and although I worried about him sometimes, he was still everything to me. 

Maybe one day, I would muster up the nerve to tell Brendon that I loved him. I was always a little bit scared to say those particular words, but I was becoming more certain that he loved me too. Until then, Brendon and I would just have to try to overcome our addictions together.


	36. How does time work?

The afternoon before Brendon’s birthday, I was sitting in my dorm room, carefully wrapping the turntable that I had bought for him in bright red wrapping paper. I had already finished my homework for the night, and I didn’t have anything better to do than to daydream about Brendon. I already had plans to go to the Aubergine early the next day so that I could spend plenty of time with him on his birthday. I wasn’t sure exactly what would happen, but that was the nature of the future. It was a perpetual mystery, and I would have to wait one more day to see how Brendon and I would spend his special day. 

All of a sudden, Patrick opened the door. “Hey Ryan,” he said. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just wrapping Brendon’s present,” I said as I stuck a bow on top of the gift. 

“Is this the record player that you were telling me about last week?” Patrick asked. I nodded, and he asked, “Do you think he’ll like it?” 

“I think so,” I said. “I just worry about him sometimes.” 

“Why is that?” Patrick asked. 

_Should I tell him the truth?_ I wondered. Patrick might freak out, but he was one of the few people that I truly trusted. As far as I knew, Patrick had never lied or gossiped, so if I had to tell someone about Brendon’s alcoholism, Patrick was the best choice. Besides, as I had learned from experience, telling the truth was always a better option than lying. The truth could hurt, but lies hurt even more. 

I sighed and explained, “Brendon’s an alcoholic. I knew that he drank a lot, but I had no idea just how bad it was until recently.” It was painful to say those words, but it was nice to tell someone else about my problems. I didn’t have to carry this burden on my own anymore. 

Patrick’s eyes widened and he said, “That’s not possible. I’ve only seen him drunk a few times, and I thought you told me that he went to Yale.”

“First of all, he’s built up quite a bit of tolerance, but he’s still drinking way too much,” I said. “Second, he doesn’t go to Yale.” 

“Then why did you tell me that he did?” 

“He used to go to Yale. Brendon dropped out after freshman year.” 

“This is crazy, Ryan.”

“I know,” I said, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.” For once, I had an unanswerable question, and the helpless, lonely feeling that came with it sank into my brain. 

“Pete might know what to do,” Patrick said. “He and I are meeting up in the Pendragon Center in about an hour. Would you like to come with us?” 

“Sure,” I said. Anything that could help me find a solution seemed like a great idea to me. 

“Great,” Patrick said. “I’m going to go get some lunch. I’ll see you then.” 

As I stuck a card on Brendon’s gift, I wished that I could time travel. I wanted to go back in time and keep Brendon from ever taking a sip of alcohol, just to keep both of us out of this mess. Then again, if Brendon had never gone to the Aubergine, would he and I have ever met? Even if we had, would we have fallen in love? Brendon was undoubtedly one of the best things that had happened to me, and I had no desire to undo that. 

After I finished wrapping the present, I got a head start on the Ancient Philosophy paper that wasn’t due for another week and then went to the Pendragon Center. As I walked past the dining hall, I met up with Patrick, and the two of us entered the Pendragon Center together. 

We found Pete waiting near the staircase that led up to the second floor. He gave Patrick a rather long kiss when he saw him and then whispered, “What’s Ryan doing here? I thought that we were going to be alone together.” 

Patrick blushed and then replied, “Ryan has a problem, and I thought that you might be able to help him.” 

“What is it?” Pete asked, and Patrick explained everything to him. Pete froze for a few moments and then said, “I think this calls for an intervention.” 

“Who cares about divine intervention?” I asked. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Pete said. “We’ll have an intervention, and then we’ll send him off to rehab, and we should probably do this sooner rather than later.” 

“Pete, I don’t think you can just send someone to rehab against their will,” Patrick said. 

“We can do the intervention though, right?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“Trust me, Trick, I know what I’m doing,” Pete said. “I’ve seen this on TV a million times.”

“These are all good ideas, but we should wait to have the intervention until after Brendon’s birthday,” I said. “I don’t want to ruin his special day.” 

Patrick thought about it, and then said, “That seems reasonable enough to me.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Pete said.

“Do you really want to ruin Brendon’s birthday, Pete?” I asked. 

“No, but he needs help,” Pete said. 

“I have to agree with Ryan,” Patrick said. “I want to help Brendon, but we can wait until Friday to do it.” 

Pete sighed and said, “Fine. We’ll let Brendon do whatever he wants for today and tomorrow, but after that, we’re holding an intervention.” 

“That works,” I said. 

“Should we get anyone else involved?” Patrick asked. 

“The rest of the Guyliner Club might be able to help,” Pete suggested. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. “It took Brendon seven months for him to be able to tell me about his addiction. I don’t think that he would want anyone else to know.”

“Then why did you tell me?” Patrick asked. 

“I trust both you and Pete,” I said. “Besides, it’s pretty clear that Brendon needs help.”

“So it will just be the three of us,” Pete said. “I guess that works. We can hold an intervention with three people. I just hope Brendon won’t be mad that you told us about this.”

“I hope so too,” I said. 

“Do you think that Brendon will listen to us?” Patrick asked. 

It was a question that I had been pondering as well. What if Brendon didn’t listen to Pete, Patrick, and I? What if we couldn’t help him? What would I do if Brendon couldn’t recover? 

“He’ll listen to us,” Pete said. “Ryan is his boyfriend, and I’ve been his friend for over a year. He trusts us, and he listens whenever we have something to say.” 

“What if Brendon doesn’t listen?” I asked. 

“That won’t be an issue,” Pete said. “We’ll find a way.” 

“I certainly hope so,” I said. “I’ll see you two tonight. Thank you so much for your help.” 

“No problem, Ryan,” Pete said. “See you soon.” 

I waved goodbye to Pete and Patrick and left the Pendragon Center. As I headed outside, I couldn’t help but worry about all the things that could possibly go wrong at the intervention. On the other hand, I was glad that I could put the issue aside for a few days and celebrate Brendon’s birthday.

As I walked back to Flack Hall, I imagined traveling through time to keep any of this from happening. I wanted to repeat days like our first date over and over again, and I wanted to go back in time to keep him sober. Maybe I would even go into the future to see where Brendon and I would be in a few years. Unfortunately, none of that was possible. Time just kept marching on in a linear fashion, and the only thing that I had control over was the present. I couldn’t keep Brendon from becoming an alcoholic or make sure that the intervention went smoothly. The only thing I could do to make this easier was take a few deep breaths on my way back to Flack Hall and try my best not to panic. 

When I returned to Room 27, I crashed onto my bed and immediately looked over at the gift lying near the door. I couldn’t wait to see Brendon’s face light up as he tore open the wrapping paper, and even though I could never be certain about what the future held, it was fun to fantasize. I knew that Brendon had already found a place in my house of memories, and I hoped to make many more of those memories with him. 

A few hours went by, and around eight o’clock, I headed over to the Aubergine Dream. The familiar neon purple sign greeted me as I opened the door, and I found Brendon in the middle of the room, dancing wildly. My heart sank when I saw that he had one of his peach and lime daiquiris in his hand. I considered telling him to put the drink down, but I decided against it. It was the day before his birthday, after all. 

I walked up to Brendon, but he didn’t seem to notice me. Why was Brendon ignoring me? I tapped him on the shoulder, and he exclaimed, “Ryan! It’s so good to see you!” 

“It’s good to see you too,” I said as I stepped a little closer to Brendon. 

“Your eyeliner looks amazing tonight,” Brendon said as he gently touched my face. 

“Thanks,” I said. 

“I’m not as think as you drunk I am,” Brendon said suddenly. 

I didn’t know how to respond to that one. It was pretty obvious that Brendon was exactly as drunk as I thought he was, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I only had to hang on for two more days, and then we would have the intervention. 

I was about to say something, but Brendon started to ramble about high heels and tentacle monsters, and even I quickly became confused. Nevertheless, I was mesmerized by the sound of his voice. Even when he was drunk, Brendon Urie could be quite beautiful. 

I spent the rest of the evening with Brendon as he wandered through the Aubergine, talking to everyone that he could, while I simply watched him and in one case, managed to keep him from tripping over the drum set. “Is Brendon okay?” Spencer asked shortly before we started the show. 

“I don’t know about Brendon, but I’m not okay,” I said. I considered telling Spencer about the intervention, but I didn’t want to involve more people than I had to. I doubted that Brendon wanted me to tell everyone that he knew just how bad his drinking had become, and I refused to betray my boyfriend. 

At nine in the afternoon, Brendon, Spencer, and I played for everyone in the Aubergine. Brendon sounded just as wonderful as he always did, and I let his angelic voice drift into my ears. I played along with him and Spencer, carefully hitting the piano keys in time with the beat of the drums. 

As I played, I worried about Brendon. Would the intervention be enough to stop his drinking? What if Pete’s plan didn’t work? What if something went horribly wrong? There were plenty of ways that could happen. However, I was also confident that everything would get better after the intervention, if everything went smoothly. Brendon would stop drinking, and our relationship would go back to normal. I wouldn’t have to worry about turning out like my mother, Brendon could go back to school, and we would return to our perfect love story. This was nothing more than a detour in our relationship. I continued to play, letting my worries drift away as I listened to Brendon sing. For once, I was certain that there was a way for me to take control of my fate.


	37. Why is my luck so horrible?

When I woke up the next day, my first instinct was to find Brendon. I desperately wanted to see my boyfriend, but I quickly remembered that I had Ancient Philosophy and Morals, Values, and Ethics. I couldn’t do anything until after those classes were over. I groaned and reached for my phone, so I could at least send him a text. I grabbed onto my phone and texted him, “Happy birthday! <3.” I wasn’t even sure if Brendon was awake yet, but nevertheless, I needed to be the first to wish him a happy birthday. 

To my surprise, Brendon replied while I was in the dining hall, eating my breakfast. Usually, he wasn’t up that early. “Thanks Ryro,” he texted me. He quickly followed that up with, “Do you have any plans for tonight? ;)” 

“Not yet,” I replied. “How about you?” 

“I’m probably just going to hang out at the Aubergine all day,” Brendon texted. “Can you meet me there?” 

“I’ll be there as soon as my classes finish up,” I wrote. 

“Okay,” Brendon texted. “See you there! :D <3”

I put my phone back into my pocket, finished my breakfast, and headed to the Hildebrant Building for my first class, filled with the joy that came with knowing that I would see Brendon soon. Normally, I loved Ancient Philosophy, but I couldn’t focus. My mind always returned to Brendon, and I once again wished that the clock could move just a little bit faster so I could see him sooner. Four hours seemed far too long to wait to see Brendon on his birthday. Of course, I didn’t have the power to make time go faster, but that didn’t stop me from wishing that my classes would end sooner so I could spend the whole day with Brendon. 

After Morals, Values, and Ethics, I left campus, but the Hildebrant Building was the farthest place on campus from the Aubergine. It took me forever to walk to Flack Hall so I could pick up Brendon’s gift, and it took me even longer to make it into downtown Old Haven. By the time I got there, I was starving, so I stopped at the bagel shop on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street and bought myself a bagel. I ate the bagel on my to the Aubergine, and after what felt like far too long, I found myself in front of that neon purple sign again. 

I opened the door and saw that the Aubergine was nearly empty. It was just past two o’clock, so that made sense. Nobody came to the Aubergine this early, except for Brendon apparently. I looked around for him, but before I could go anywhere, he came stumbling towards me with a peach and lime daiquiri in his hand. Already, I could tell that Brendon was drunk. _Tomorrow,_ I told myself. _Tomorrow, I’ll fix this mess._

“Ryan,” he slurred. “Finally! You’re here. I thought you’d never come.” 

“I’m here now, Brendon,” I said with a smile. 

“I don’t feel great, Ryan,” Brendon said. 

“How much have you had to drink?” I asked as I set the record player aside. 

“I don’t know. I always lose count,” Brendon said as he stumbled over to the piano and leaned against the instrument. “Ryan, do you remember when you first told me about that crazy theory you had about how the piano knows something you don’t know?” I nodded, and Brendon said, “I meant everything I said that night.” 

I didn’t have the heart to tell Brendon that I didn’t remember every detail, so I just nodded along. As he rambled and took a few more sips from his drink, I noticed that Brendon’s skin was slowly turning pale. “Are you okay?” I asked him. 

“Well if you wanted honesty, that’s all you had to say…” Brendon said, but that wasn’t a real answer to the question. 

“I’m serious, Brendon,” I said. “Are you okay?” Brendon nodded weakly, and then collapsed onto the floor. “BRENDON!” I shouted as I sat down next to him. 

Brendon rolled over slightly and mumbled, “I told you so. I told you I didn’t feel good.” 

I kissed him softly and said, “It’s going to be okay. Just hang in there for a little bit longer. I think I’m going to call Spencer.” 

“Okay,” Brendon said weakly. I pulled him closer to me, and we stayed there for a little while. I wasn’t sure how much time went by, but I was glad that I had Brendon next to me, even if he was clearly drunk out of his mind. I could fix this later. For now, it was enough to have Brendon by my side. 

“These bright lights have always blinded me,” Brendon mumbled as he closed his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him, but he didn’t respond. “BRENDON!” I shouted one more time, but there was still no response. Tears began to stream down my face as I reached for my phone, but I quickly wiped them away. I could still feel Brendon’s heart beating, but his breathing was becoming increasingly irregular. I quickly dialed Spencer’s number, but he didn’t pick up. I called him again, and this time, I got an answer. 

“Ryan, I’m in the middle of class,” Spencer said. “What do you want?” 

“Can you please come to the Aubergine as soon as you can?” I asked. “Brendon was drinking, and then he passed out.” 

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer said, “Brendon passed out?” 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Have you called 911 yet?” Spencer asked. “He should really be in a hospital.” 

“Not yet,” I said. 

“Ryan, do you want Brendon to pass out in a drain pipe?” Spencer asked. 

“He didn’t pass out in a drain pipe,” I said. “We’re at the Aubergine.” 

Spencer sighed and then said, “That’s not what I meant. I’m on my way, but please call emergency services.” Spencer hung up, and I immediately dialed 911. As I explained the situation, I stayed close to Brendon. At first, I was sure that everything would work itself out, but I found myself quickly losing faith. Time seemed to trickle by, and I told myself to have some composure. 

The ambulance arrived only a few minutes later, but it felt much longer than that. I trembled as the paramedics placed Brendon onto a stretcher, and no matter how many times I told myself not to panic, I didn’t have much of a choice. I heard a few snippets of conversation between the paramedics, mostly expressing surprise that Brendon was alive at all, which of course, only made me worry more. 

Spencer arrived shortly after the ambulance did, and he gave me a quick hug before asking, “Do you need a ride to the hospital?” I nodded, and as I fought back tears, Spencer led me to his car. 

When we arrived at the hospital, Spencer and I were greeted by the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor. I could hardly breathe, much less say anything intelligent, so Spencer was the one who explained that we were Brendon’s friends and asked if we could see him. Unfortunately, the nurse refused, and the two of us were forced to sit in the lobby. 

The whole atmosphere of the hospital felt off. The lights were too bright, and the colors in the lobby were too cheerful for a place like this. There were a few other people there, but they were strangers to me. The chair that I was sitting in wasn’t uncomfortable, but it didn’t feel anything like my bed back at Flack Hall, and it certainly didn’t feel anything like Brendon’s arms wrapped around me. The only thing that kept me from sprinting out of there was the knowledge that I would get to see Brendon again soon. 

Having another meaningless conversation with Spencer just didn’t seem right at that moment, so I was left to my own thoughts. I focused on taking deep breaths and not bursting into tears. I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry, because what would Brendon think of me if I did? I had to stay strong for him. 

My mind drifted off, and I thought of just how bad my luck was. Brendon was the one who was suffering the most: after all, this was no way to spend his birthday. However, I was sure that all of this had only happened because of my horrible luck. Everything had been going so well, and then fate just had to find a new way to torture me. _I’ll show God or the gods or whatever’s up there,_ I thought. _Brendon and I will both make it through this, and that will be the end of it._ What could be worse than this? What else could they do to me? I took a few more deep breaths, and despite everything that had already happened that day, I didn’t cry. I stayed calm and composed as I waited for Brendon. 

At that moment, I remembered the record player. It was still sitting in the Aubergine, lost in all of the commotion. I had forgotten about Brendon’s gift entirely when he passed out. I decided that it didn’t matter. I would give it to Brendon after he woke up, and although it was a little bit of a late present, he would still love it. That was one of the many things that I loved about Brendon. Despite all of my flaws, he was always so forgiving. 

“Ryan, is everything okay?” Spencer asked. 

“What do you think, Spencer?” I said, and he immediately went silent. No conversation was necessary when we were both wallowing in misery and concern for Brendon. Just from looking at Spencer, I could tell that he was experiencing almost as much pain as I was. He had known Brendon for longer than I had, and the two of them had always been close.

I still don’t know how long we were left waiting in the lobby, certain that they would let us in eventually, or at least tell us some good news about Brendon. I passed the time by contemplating my life, while Spencer pretended to read a magazine. Both of us were trying our best not to fall apart. As Spencer and I sat in silence, a middle aged woman suddenly walked up to us. “You’re Brendon Urie’s friends, right?” she said. 

“If we want to get technical, Ryan’s his boyfriend,” Spencer said, but the woman ignored him. 

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he’s dead,” the woman said. 

That was when I finally let the tears fall.


	38. Am I too small to talk to God?

Dear God/Gods/Whoever This May Concern, 

Yes, it’s me, Ryan Ross. I know we haven’t talked in quite some time, but if you’re (You’re?) ever going to listen to me, now would be a great time to do so. I’m in a little bit of a predicament, and I think that you might be able to help me out. It’s only a small request, so I’m sure that you can do it. 

I am in love with this beautiful, magnificent man by the name of Brendon Urie. I refuse to say that in the past tense - he may be gone, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love him anymore. I’m at the Old Haven Hospital right now, and according to the workers there, he’s dead. Could you please bring him back? You’re the only one who can help him now, and I’m surely not the only one who wants him alive and well. 

Is this because I’ve doubted you? I know that I’ve stopped going to church, and I’ve often questioned your very existence, but that doesn’t seem like a very good reason to take the love of my life away from me. You’ve never showed up when I needed you before, so why should I blindly believe that you exist? Where were you when the other kids would pick on me in elementary school, or when my dad died, or when Brendon picked up his first drink? Nevertheless, I’m choosing to believe in you now. Love can make people do crazy things, and this is one of them. 

Is this because I’m gay? Are you as homophobic as everyone says that you are? As a child, I always learned that God loves everyone, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe this is your way of telling me that you disapprove of my relationship with Brendon, but if that’s the case, then why did you make me fall in love with him in the first place? I don't think I’ll ever understand the homophobes’ logic, but to me, it’s not logic at all. It’s pure bigotry. If you consider me a sinner, then you’re probably right, but I’m in love with my own sins, and it’s no reason to kill Brendon. He was only expressing his love, and love is the purest virtue of them all. 

Speaking of that, why did you kill Brendon in the first place? What kind of sick bastard would do such a thing? He was only twenty-one. He hardly had a chance to experience everything that life had to offer. Brendon was far too young to die, but I’m sure that you could still reverse it if you wanted to. Prove it to me, God/Gods/Whoever The Hell Is Up There. Prove that you’re up there and that you love everyone and that you don’t just exist to make my life miserable. 

Clearly, you’re either not listening to me or you’re not there at all. Nothing’s happened since I started writing this, and Spencer’s still urging me to leave. He says that he understands that I’m grieving, but waiting here will only make it worse. I don’t believe him. You can still perform this one little miracle for me, right? I still believe that finding love is the only way to be happy, and if you bring Brendon back, that will prove it. 

Listen, if you do this for me, I’ll be your most devoted follower. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, as long as I can do it with Brendon by my side. I can’t do much of anything without him, so I desperately need you to bring him back. Besides, it will solve the whole debate about whether God exists or not that we had in my Introduction to Philosophy class. What better proof of God’s existence is there than knowing that He/She/They/It performed a miracle just for me? I could get the whole Kale University Philosophy Department to believe in you. 

I’m not kidding about this. Where are you? 

Spencer’s getting a little bit impatient now, but I can tell that he’s hurting too. He’s fighting away tears, and I don’t even want to think about what will happen when everyone at the Aubergine Dream finds out that Brendon is dead. I can’t imagine the sort of pain and suffering that will cause. Is that what you want? Do you want me and all of my friends to suffer? Does that amuse you in some way? Are our lives some sort of cruel joke to you? Are you up there in Heaven (or wherever you are) laughing because I have the nerve to talk to God? 

I should be too smart for this. I should have known that you wouldn’t listen to me. I should have known that you have too much to do to listen to a random philosophy student at Kale University, even if his boyfriend just died. I should have known that maybe I’m just talking to myself, because you might not exist. Does that make me crazy? Am I driving myself insane, or is this just a side effect of heartbreak? Maybe Spencer’s right. Maybe I should just go home and stop begging a being that probably doesn’t exist for a miracle. 

Have you ever been in love? I don’t know if higher powers have that sort of capacity, which would certainly explain a lot. If you don’t know what it’s like to fall in love, then you can’t possibly understand the pain that I’m feeling. You don’t understand loss if you don’t understand love, and that’s why you think that it’s okay to take Brendon away from me. I’ll ask you one more time. Can you please bring him back? 

I’m done with this. I’m done waiting. Even if you’re up there and you are listening to me, you’re taking far too long. As far as I know, Brendon’s still dead, and I’m starting to wish that I was in his place. Why didn’t you take me instead? You must have known that this would hurt me more. I’d rather die a million times over than have to watch Brendon die. Living without my soulmate is a fate worse than death for me.

Are you there? Are you listening to me? Do you even care?

I’m still not getting anything down here on Earth. Give me a sign. I want to believe. 

I’m looking at the clock now. It’s been seven minutes since that woman told me that Brendon was dead. Please don’t give him any more time in Heaven than that. Can’t you let him live out the rest of his life? He’s only twenty-one. Who would want to kill someone that young? 

Clearly, you’re even worse than everyone thinks you are. Even the meanest god(s) wouldn’t kill a man who was barely out of his teens just for the fun of it. Brendon could have lived a long, healthy life, and you cut it short for no reason at all. He could have gone back to school, or become a Broadway star, or gotten married, and you stole all of that from him. How do you feel now? I hope you regret it, because if I had done something like that, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’d be crying myself to sleep every night, and I hope that’s what you’re doing right now. 

You know what? I give up. I don’t care whether you’re real or not, or if you care about people, because none of that matters if Brendon’s dead. If you’re real, then I’m too small to talk to you, and if you’re not, then a whole lot of people on Earth are driving themselves insane because they think that you’re out there somewhere. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m too smart for that. I’m not working myself up over this any more. 

You’re dead to me. 

Love,   
Ryan Ross


	39. Is suffering necessary?

“I think he might be in shock,” Spencer said as I finally managed to rescue myself from the depths of my own mind. 

I turned to look at him and said, “I’m okay.” I tried to wipe away my tears, but they just kept flowing. The reality of all of this had finally hit me, and I had no idea what to do anymore. My world had collapsed beneath my feet. 

“Are you ready to go back to Kale now?” Spencer asked. I nodded, and Spencer walked out to his car. I reluctantly followed him, and as Spencer drove through the town, every single building managed to remind me of Brendon. We drove past the street where Brendon had mispronounced “caricature” for the first time, the record store where I bought Brendon’s birthday present, and the movie theater where we had gone on a double date with Pete and Patrick. Passing by the Aubergine flooded me with memories, from dancing with Brendon to playing the piano while he sang. Now that he was gone, every memory of him was drenched in pain. After a while, I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to endure any more.

Even that didn’t help. “Bohemian Rhapsody” just had to come on the car radio, and although I loved the song, I had to ask Spencer to change the station. If Brendon was in the car, he would have been belting out the words with his beautiful voice, a voice that I would never hear again. Of course, Spencer understood, and he simply turned the radio off. Sitting in silence was better than having to think about Brendon.

The Kale University parking lot was right next to Shadow Hall, where Spencer lived, but it was nowhere near Flack Hall. “I guess I’ll see you at the Aubergine tonight, Ryan,” Spencer said as he gave me one last hug. “I’ll understand if you don’t come though, and I’m sure everyone else will too.” 

“No, I’ll be there,” I said. 

“I’ll see you there then,” Spencer said. He gave me a wave and tried to force a smile, but his mournful eyes told me just how much pain he was in. After Spencer entered Shadow Hall, I began to walk back to Flack Hall. The Kale campus didn’t bombard me with as many memories as the rest of Old Haven, but I made the mistake of taking the route that took me right past the aquatic center. When I walked past the pool, I nearly broke down completely. Knowing that I would never have any more memories like the ones I’d made with Brendon broke my heart. 

I looked up at the sky, but even the clouds seemed to mock me. There was one that looked exactly like Brendon’s face, complete with a disproportionately large forehead. Perhaps we were all too small to talk to God, but clearly He/She/They didn’t mind playing cruel jokes on me. It didn’t matter anymore, as I told myself so many times. This was a godless world I lived in.

I stared at the sidewalk instead, still trying my best not to cry or crumple to the ground. Time ticked by slowly, as if to extend my suffering. Eventually, I made it to Flack Hall, and as I looked up at the residence hall, it brought back memories of vegan Rocky Road ice cream and Brendon in his beautiful suits. 

This is the life I live now, I thought as I finally got the nerve to open the door to Flack Hall. 

When I finally climbed upstairs and entered Room 27, I lay down on my bed and broke down into a pool of pain, tears, and regret. Patrick wasn’t home yet, and he almost certainly hadn’t heard the news. It didn’t matter. He would hear it soon enough, and I didn’t want to spread my suffering to anyone else. 

I turned on my phone, stuck my earbuds in, and shuffled through all of the Beatles songs that I had. The Beatles had never failed to help me before, so maybe they could help me through Brendon’s death. However, it quickly became clear that nothing could ease my anguish, not even the saddest songs that I could find. I barely heard the music, and images from earlier in the day flashed through my mind. It was hard to believe that Brendon had only been dead for a few hours - the whole day had gone by so slowly. If the Beatles couldn’t help me, then what would? 

I spent the next several hours curled up in bed, refusing to move. I couldn’t go to the dining hall for dinner, because I simply had no appetite. Instead, I searched for some sort of a distraction. I tried to work on my Morals, Values, and Ethics paper, but the words wouldn’t come. I tried to read a book just for fun, but when I saw that the first line was “Paul Johnson was dead,” I closed the book immediately. I had gone through far too much that day to find escapism in death. As the clock continued to tick, I tried to take a nap, but I woke up only twenty minutes later, shaking from a horrific nightmare. Nothing was the same now that Brendon was gone. 

At 8:30, my phone began to ring. I reached for the phone and saw that Spencer was calling me. I considered ignoring it, but it was Spencer. Surely, if he was calling me, it was important. I picked up the phone and said, “Hello?” 

“Hey Ryan, it’s Spencer,” he said. “I just...I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“I’m not okay,” I told him. 

“Me neither,” Spencer said. “I think that’s normal though. You’re coming to the Aubergine tonight, right?” 

I knew I had told Spencer that I was coming, and I also knew that it was wrong to go back on my word, but I had no desire whatsoever to go to the Aubergine. The appeal of the Aubergine Dream had never involved drinking or dancing or listening to music, or any of the other things that people usually went to a bar for. I had always gone there for Brendon, and now that he was gone, there was no point. “I don’t think so,” I said. 

“Come on, Ryan,” Spencer said. “You should go.” 

“You said you would understand if I didn’t go,” I said. 

“And you said you would go anyways,” Spencer said. 

“I don’t want to go back on my word, but I couldn’t even get myself out of bed for dinner,” I said. “I don’t know how I’m going to face everyone at the Aubergine.” 

“I didn’t eat dinner either. I just haven’t been hungry since we heard the news,” Spencer said. “I’m still going to the Aubergine though. It will be hard, but we can do this together.” 

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I really don’t think I can go.” 

“If you don’t go to the Aubergine tonight, then you’ll have to go tomorrow night,” Spencer said. 

“Maybe I should just quit my job,” I said. At the time, it seemed like the best solution. I would let the past die - kill it, if I had to. Even if I couldn’t let Brendon go, there were plenty of other things in my past that I could get rid of. Maybe if I quit, I could finally stitch up the hole in my heart. 

“How are you going to pay for your room and board?” Spencer asked. 

He had a point. It wouldn’t be easy to find a new job if I quit my position at the Aubergine. Clearly, I hadn’t thought my plan through. “I don’t know,” I said. 

“That’s what I thought,” Spencer said. “Besides, Brendon would want you to stay at the Aubergine. He really did love his job, and even in his absence, he would want both of us to stay.” 

I could hear Spencer beginning to get choked up, and I knew what I had to do. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll come tonight.” 

“Okay Ryan,” Spencer said. “I’ll see you there.” 

Spencer hung up, and I realized that I had to leave right away if I wanted to make it to the Aubergine by nine. I still didn’t want to go, but Spencer was right. Brendon would want me to be there. I went downstairs, left Flack Hall, and walked into the heart of Old Haven. As I walked, I stared down at the sidewalk, trying to avoid all of the memories that threatened to punch me in the gut. My strategy worked until Patrick walked up beside me. 

“Hey Ryan,” he said with a smile. “How are you doing? Did Brendon like his present? I don’t know if you heard, but my birthday is two weeks from tomorrow, and I heard from Joe that Pete’s getting me a baby bunny. I’ll have to ask someone if they’ll let me keep it in the dorms…” 

How could Patrick be so oblivious? I walked faster to avoid talking to him, and thankfully, Patrick’s short legs couldn’t keep up. I would have to tell him about Brendon eventually, but telling him on the way to the Aubergine didn’t seem like the best idea. 

When I got there, it was almost exactly nine o’clock. I rushed over to the piano bench, but I couldn’t lose myself in the music like I always did. The song sounded entirely wrong without Brendon. I could hear people in the audience asking where Brendon was, and I knew that Spencer and I had to explain ourselves somehow. 

I played through the remainder of the song, craving the angelic voice that I would never hear again. We must always want what we cannot have, and although I knew that I couldn’t have Brendon, I imagined him next to me on the piano bench, singing along. However, it was clear from the lonely sounds of the piano and drums that we had a gaping hole in our trio. 

After the song finished, someone shouted, “Where’s Brendon?” I had to give her an answer, but even saying the words brought back even more pain. Nevertheless, I tried to give her an explanation. 

“He...he’s…” I stuttered, but I couldn’t get it out without bursting into tears. As I sobbed, I looked to Spencer, and thankfully, he was able to help me. 

“Brendon passed away earlier today,” Spencer said. As a wave of concerned chatter made its way around the bar, Spencer reached for a tissue and wiped his eyes. Meanwhile, I stared out at the audience. Some of them didn’t believe us, claiming that Brendon was far too young to die. Pete’s eyeliner was running, despite Patrick’s attempts to comfort him, and Laura was shouting a million questions at us from the back of the room. 

“What do we do now?” Spencer whispered, and for once, I didn’t have a good answer. As I stared at my music, Spencer tried his best to explain the basic facts of what had happened. In the end, it was useless. No amount of explanation could ever ease the pain of losing Brendon. After a few minutes, Spencer announced that we were going to play a few more songs, and we continued onwards, still without Brendon’s beautiful melodies. 

While I played, I wondered if the piano knew that Brendon was going to die. If it did, why hadn’t it told me? Even if I had known that Brendon would die, it wouldn’t have helped. His death would have still hurt, but at least both of us might have been prepared. I was never truly given a chance to say goodbye to him, and although it wouldn’t have made his death hurt less, it might have given me a sense of closure. I cursed my instrument and kept on playing, wishing that I could be anywhere but the Aubergine Dream.

After the show, there was no reason for me to stay at the Aubergine. As I made my way towards the door, all kinds of people stopped me and told me how sorry they were about Brendon. I knew that they were well-meaning, and it was certainly the right thing for them to do, but none of it helped. I forced myself through each conversation, my mind wandering elsewhere. 

I finally made it to the door, and I rushed out of the Aubergine and back towards the Kale University campus. On my way there, I managed to get lost. Despite the fact that I had lived in Old Haven for almost a year, I wasn’t surprised or alarmed at all, not after all of this. I was lost without Brendon in my life. Up until that point, I believed that he was my other half, and I couldn’t reject that idea just because he was dead. How would I live without my other half? It took me eighteen years to find Brendon, and just like that, he was gone. My soulmate was dead, and I was left alive, wishing for someone that I could never have. 

Would I ever see Brendon again? I wasn’t sure if there was an afterlife, but I doubted it if there was no higher power out there. Even if it did exist, I wouldn’t be going there for a long time. I used to say that I wanted to die before I was old, but Brendon had made me think twice. Now that he was gone, what would I do? Maybe dying young would be worth it if I could see Brendon again. 

I eventually made it back to campus, and I entered Flack Hall and climbed up to Room 27. Patrick was still at the Aubergine, so I had the dorm room to myself. I flopped onto my bed and wondered why I had to suffer so much. Was there any reason for all of the misery that I had to go through that day? Was this an essential step in some cosmic plan, or was it all random? I couldn’t decide which was worse. I hated to think that fate had some plot to kill Brendon, but I also didn’t want to believe that this was pure chance. 

There was no point in making someone miserable. Brendon didn’t need to die, and nothing good had come of his death. Having Brendon around had made me feel blissful, radiant, alive, but now, all of that had disappeared. I had no reason to feel joyful anymore. If happiness really was being around the people that I loved, then how was I supposed to feel happy without one of the people that I loved the most? 

I lay there, wondering why all of this had happened to me, until Patrick arrived in the dorm room. “I’m so sorry about Brendon,” he said softly as he took off his glasses and put them down next to his bed. 

I didn’t even bother to respond. When Patrick turned off the lights, I tried to sleep, but the overwhelming heartache that still rested within me kept that from happening. I tried to push my darkest thoughts away, but they just continued to come, and eventually, I let them in. What else was I supposed to do when my soulmate was dead?


	40. I am not Socrates.

Although I couldn’t sleep at all, I didn’t get out of bed until nearly noon that day. I had already missed my Ancient Philosophy class, and I had no real desire to go to my later classes. Instead, I reached for my phone, opened up my school email account, and asked one of my classmates if there was any homework for Ancient Philosophy. I couldn’t bring myself to go to class, but I still didn’t want to fall behind. 

She replied back relatively quickly, telling me that she was sorry for my loss and that we were supposed to read another one of Plato’s dialogues for Tuesday. News spread quickly in Old Haven, but I had no idea that everyone knew about Brendon’s death already. I sighed, opened up my copy of the works of Plato, and found the section that I was assigned to read. 

Even my homework managed to remind me of Brendon. I thought of how he always used to call me “Modern Day Socrates.” It wasn’t the most accurate nickname, at least in my opinion, and it brought back all kinds of painful memories. As I read, I realized just how irritating Socrates could be. In the dialogue, he was nothing but an overly optimistic philosopher who didn’t realize the horrors of the world and asked far too many questions. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t become like him as I hurled the book against the wall of my dorm room. Socrates knew nothing. 

I crashed back onto the bed and thought about better philosophers to emulate. I needed answers, and I wouldn’t necessarily get one just because I asked a question. There was nobody out there to answer anyways, so why should I bother to ask?

I thought of Morals, Values, and Ethics, where we had started to read some of Friedrich Nietzsche’s works. He was a better philosopher to follow. After everything that had happened to me, I could believe that life was meaningless and God was dead. It would certainly explain why no higher power would listen to me and why Brendon died even though he was far too young for it. Anything that would give me an answer without a question was good enough for me. 

I hardly ever left my dorm room that weekend, only leaving to play at the Aubergine. However, I didn’t spend much time there either. I showed up promptly at nine o’clock, and then left immediately after the show was done. There was nothing there for me anymore, and sometimes, it felt like Brendon’s death had taken all of the joy out of life altogether. Now, it was all merely routine, with nothing to truly live for. 

As the days passed by, Patrick came in and out of Room 27, occasionally making an attempt to console me, but for the most part, he left me alone, and it was better that way. Joe and Andy stopped by once or twice as well, but we hardly spoke. Even after nearly a year of living next to each other, I thought they couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through. I was lost in my own head, letting my grief consume me. 

Occasionally, I let myself think of love and happiness, but only as illusions. I knew from experience that love was fleeting, always ending in heartbreak or tragedy. Happiness, I decided, was also a delusion. It was a false emotion that humans had created to get ourselves through our broken lives. Hope and dreams were useless, and there was no reason to believe that I would ever find happiness, because it didn’t exist. 

I couldn’t bring myself to go to Public Policy or Principles of Ecology on Monday, but I did manage to drag myself out of bed for Morals, Values, and Ethics. Although I was convinced that I was nothing more than a shell of a human being without my soulmate, I did think that Morals, Values, and Ethics might give me a few more answers, so on Tuesday, I left Flack Hall and went to class. 

I sat down in my usual chair, but I barely paid attention to what my classmates were saying. They were still suffering from the illusion of happiness, and I couldn’t bear to hear their incessant chatter. I tried to keep the events of Brendon’s twenty-first birthday from replaying over and over in my head until Professor Caldwell made an announcement. “We’re going on a field trip today,” she said. 

“Where are we going?” one student asked. 

“We’re going to see the Senior Art Gallery,” Professor Caldwell said. “Your assignment is to select one piece of artwork and write a few paragraphs on how it relates to a concept that we have discussed in class. I will be collecting this assignment on Thursday.” 

Normally, I would have been excited to see what the senior art majors at Kale had created, and I would have been even more excited to connect it to my favorite subject, but I couldn’t feel much of anything when I was still being bombarded by memories of Brendon. As the rest of the class left to visit the art center, I trudged behind them, completely devoid of my classmates’ enthusiasm. 

When we arrived in the Senior Art Gallery, I peeked around, but nothing truly struck a chord with me. There was an abstract painting that many of my classmates seemed to appreciate, supposedly representing moral shades of gray, but I couldn’t see the appeal. Morality was nothing more than a construct, after all. I wandered amongst sculptures of men in black marching band uniforms and drawings of northern downpours, but I couldn’t find anything to love. Even in a room full of beautiful art, I couldn’t find a distraction to mask what was real. 

As I wandered through the gallery, I finally did find something that interested me. Right next to a few pages from a graphic novel, there was a series of five paintings in black, white, and red, all done by the same artist. The first painting depicted a demonic-looking young man commanding a small army of dogs. I stared at the painting for a while, and then looked at the tag under it. _Frank Iero and the Hounds of Hell - painted by Gerard Way,_ it said. 

I moved on to the next painting, which portrayed a young woman burning her birth certificate. The tag underneath it read _A Portrait of a Teenage Anarchist (Laura Jane Grace) - painted by Gerard Way_. There was a rather terrifying self-portrait titled _Portrait of a Mad Artist_ next to it, followed by an image of Pete applying eyeliner with an angry expression on his face. The tag on the fourth painting said _Pete Wentz Puts On His War Paint - painted by Gerard Way._

The fifth and final painting in the series depicted me, but it wasn’t anything like what I expected. I appeared so small, sitting in a chair in the corner of the painting. The background was nothing but jet black, but my painted counterpart didn’t seem to realize that as he rested in the chair, lost in a dream. After staring at the painting for a few minutes, I took a look at the tag. It said, _Ryan Ross Searches For Meaning In An Empty World - painted by Gerard Way._

Professor Caldwell passed by and noticed me gazing at Gerard’s paintings. “It’s odd seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, isn’t it, Ryan?” she said. I nodded, and she continued onward to check on one of her other students. 

Maybe Gerard had a point. All this time, I had been searching for meaning in an empty world. As I continued onwards through the gallery, I concluded that life was meaningless. Others in my philosophy class might say that the meaning of life was finding happiness or worshipping God or caring for nature or creating goals, but I was certain that all of them were wrong. Of course, if life didn’t have any meaning, then I wasn’t certain what point there was in living. Without anyone to love or any particular reason why I was here, I couldn’t say why I was alive at all. 

After class was over, I returned to Flack Hall and typed up a few paragraphs about Gerard’s paintings of the Guyliner Club. They haunted me, as any good piece of art should, and even when I went to the Aubergine later that day, I still thought of the jet black background in the final painting. 

I showed up to the Aubergine a couple of minutes early that day. Before I took my seat at the piano bench, I had to talk to a few people. On my way into the building, I found Gerard and Frank holding hands as they entered the Aubergine. I felt a pang of sadness as I walked next to them and remembered how Brendon used to do that with me. All of the happiness that I had felt back then was nothing more than a delusion. Nevertheless, I forced a smile and told Gerard, “I saw your artwork in the Senior Art Gallery. It looked amazing.” 

“Thanks Ryan,” Gerard said. He then ignored me and talked to Frank, and I rushed into the bar. Inside the Aubergine, I heard all kinds of gossip about Brendon. Most of it was things that I already knew or pure rumor, but I did hear that Brendon’s parents were flying to Old Haven from Las Vegas. I was a little surprised to hear that, since Brendon had never had the best relationship with his parents, but we all get together when we bury our friends. Even Brendon’s estranged family couldn’t disagree with that. 

I was about to walk over to the stage to talk to Spencer, but Heidi stopped me. “I’m so sorry about Brendon,” she told me. “I wish that there was something that we could have done to help him.” 

“You don’t understand what it’s like, Heidi,” I said. 

It was true. I was certain that nobody else was suffering like I was. No one else had loved Brendon like I had, so no one else could possibly feel and understand my pain. 

“Perhaps I don’t,” she admitted. “I didn’t love him like you did, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him. I think that I can speak for everyone at the Aubergine by saying that you’re not the only one who’s grieving.” 

“It’s not fair,” I said. “Brendon was too young for this.” 

“I agree,” Heidi said. “Ryan, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.” 

“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” I said as I stepped onstage and sat on the piano bench. I looked at the clock and saw that it was nine in the afternoon, and even though there was no passion in our performances anymore, we had to play. My fingers touched the piano keys once again, and I dragged myself through the routine of playing the piano. 

After the show was over, I left immediately, headed back to Flack Hall, and flopped onto my bed. At last, I had a few answers, but there was still something deeply wrong. There was still a massive Brendon Urie-shaped hole in my life - a wound I suspected would never heal. Even my newfound realizations couldn’t fix that. I began to sob once again, and as I cried myself to sleep, I drifted away into the nothingness that was life.


	41. Does Frank Iero count as a therapist?

The next day, I slept late and missed my first class. After dragging myself to my second class but failing to find any joy in it, I trudged my way back to Flack Hall and worked on my Ancient Philosophy paper. As I worked, I wondered what the point of studying the history of philosophy was if all of those ancient philosophers were wrong, and humanity was doomed to repeat its own mistakes. 

There was no point in doing much of anything anymore. Love and happiness had once made my life seem as if it had a purpose, but now that those smoke and mirrors were gone, I could only see a void of despair and loneliness in my future. For a moment, I longed for the illusion of meaning, faith, and happiness. Truth had always been my ultimate goal, but now that I had found it, it only made my life worse.

Socrates was right about one thing though. Searching for answers without asking a question was entirely pointless, so my natural curiosity returned. However, there was only one question that I could think of to ask. Would I always feel like this? It certainly seemed like I would. Without Brendon in my life, it was impossible to imagine any other form of existence. I didn’t believe that I would feel happy or fall in love again, because how would I do that when I was constantly longing for the connection that I had felt with Brendon? 

As I was pondering those questions, Patrick entered the dorm room. He lay on his bed and began to work on his homework, but when he saw the hopeless look on my face, he simply said, “You need a therapist.” 

At first, I rejected the notion, but as I considered it, I realized that Patrick was right. I was not okay, and a professional might be able to help me finally get over Brendon’s death. However, therapy was expensive, and I didn’t exactly have a ton of money lying around. I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought of Brendon yet again, and the usual heartache returned, reminding me just how badly I needed someone that I could talk to about everything that had happened to me over the past few days. 

My phone buzzed, and when I looked down, I saw that I had a text from Gerard. “I rescheduled the Guyliner Club meeting for today at 3:00,” he texted. “Are you coming?” 

“Maybe,” I replied. 

“Okay, just let me know,” Gerard texted, but I didn’t bother to respond. Instead, I put my phone away and attempted to work on my philosophy paper. At three o’clock, I decided that going to the Guyliner Club meeting might be able to help me. It couldn’t bring back the happiness in my life, but I could at least escape into the illusion for a little while. I would be a little bit late, but if anyone would understand, it would be the Guyliner Club.

By the time I got to the Pendragon Center, the Guyliner Club was already halfway through their meeting. “Hey Ryan,” Gerard said. “It’s good to see you.” 

“I didn’t think you were going to show up,” Pete added. 

“I thought that it might be nice to see you guys,” I said. “How have all of you been?” 

“I’ve been doing fine,” Gerard said. “It’s nice to finally be done with my senior art project.” 

“I still can’t believe that we’re graduating next month,” Laura said. 

“Me neither,” Gerard said. 

“I’ll miss you guys next year,” Frank said. 

“Don’t be silly, Frank,” Gerard said. “I’m staying in New England after graduation, and I’ll visit you all the time. You’ll see me so much that you won’t be able to miss me.” 

“I hope so,” Frank said. “What about you, Ryan? What’s up with you?” 

Hearing all of my friends talk about how happy they were only made me feel worse. Was it a mistake to come to the Guyliner Club? Did that even matter anymore? I wasn’t sure what to say, so I told them, “Patrick thinks that I should get a therapist.” 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Gerard said. “Frank’s studying psychology, and that’s close enough to having a real therapist, right?” 

“I’m not sure how helpful I would be,” Frank said. “Maybe Ryan could talk to one of my professors, or maybe one of the counselors they have at the health center…” 

“Nonsense,” Gerard interrupted. “You’re an excellent student.” 

It did seem like a good solution. Having Frank help me meant that I wouldn’t have to pay for a therapist, and he had almost completed his degree, so he was quite knowledgeable. Besides, it would help Frank gain some experience. 

Frank thought about it and then said, “Fine. We’ll meet at the Greek Friendship Society house tomorrow.” 

“Sounds great,” I said. I wished that Frank could rescue me from the misery that had encompassed me since Brendon’s death, but I doubted it. No therapist could do something like that. All they could do was provide temporary relief. 

My phone buzzed again, and when I took it out of my pocket, I saw that I had received an email from Professor Caldwell. I opened the email and skimmed it over, and although the news might have excited me a few weeks earlier, I didn’t feel anything as I read her email. When I finished reading it, I told the Guyliner Club, “The philosophy department selected my motto as one of the finalists for next year’s official Kale University motto.” 

“That’s so cool!” Pete exclaimed, expressing the excitement that I couldn’t. 

“What was your motto?” Laura asked. 

“The piano knows something I don’t know,” I replied. 

“That’s kind of neat,” Frank said. 

“I’ll definitely vote for your motto,” Gerard said. “I’d like to have that on a Kale University T-shirt.” 

“We’re graduating, Gerard,” Laura said. 

“You can never have too much Kale spirit wear,” Gerard said. 

As the rest of the Guyliner Club chatted, I drafted a quick reply to Professor Caldwell’s email. I then handed my phone to Pete, who was once again playing with his purple fidget spinner. “Can you please check this over?” I asked. 

“Sure,” Pete answered. He read the email, and after he sent it, he asked, “What’s with your email address, Ryan?” 

“What are you talking about?” I asked, assuming that I had sent the email from my school account. 

“I was just wondering why you decided to make an account called blinkexists666@gmail.com,” Pete said. 

“I made that when I was twelve,” I said awkwardly. “I think I was trying a little bit too hard to be edgy.” 

Gerard laughed and then said, “Don’t worry about it, Ryan. I was just as bad when I was younger, and at least you have good music taste. I love blink-182.” 

“Gerard’s right about that,” Frank said. 

The rest of the Guyliner Club started to talk about music, but I couldn’t focus. It was painful to listen to them talk about their favorite pop punk bands when all I could think about was Brendon and the smile that lit up his face every time he entered a record store. Perhaps therapy would help me think of something other than Brendon. 

The next day, I knocked on the front door of the Greek Friendship Society house. One of the Greek Friendship Society members that I didn’t know terribly well opened the door for me. “Why are you here?” they asked. 

Perhaps I had met them at one of the handful of Greek Friendship Society parties that I had gone to earlier in the year, but I couldn’t remember their name. “Clearly, it was for some deity’s cruel amusement, but God is long dead, so it no longer matters,” I said. 

“That’s not what I asked,” they replied. “Why are you at the Greek Friendship Society house?” 

“I need to talk to Frank Iero,” I said. 

The Greek Friendship Society member shrugged and took me upstairs to Frank’s bedroom. I had never been to the second floor of the Greek Friendship Society house before, but it turned out that it wasn’t terribly exciting. Frank was sitting on top of his bed, petting one of his dogs, while Gerard sat next to him and complained about his job search. When I opened the door, Gerard rushed out of the room, and Frank said, “Hey Ryan. Feel free to sit wherever you’d like.” 

I lay down on the couch in Frank’s room and stared at the ceiling. “Fix me in forty five,” I whispered. 

“I don’t know if I can do that, Ryan, but I can certainly try,” Frank said. He picked up one of his psychology textbooks, flipped through it, and then said, “So tell me about your mother.” 

I laughed and said, “Who are you trying to be - Sigmund Freud?” 

“You’re trying to be Socrates, so I don’t see what’s wrong with emulating a great historical figure in my field,” Frank said. 

“I’m not trying to be Socrates anymore,” I said. 

“Can you please just answer the question?” Frank said. 

“It wasn’t phrased as a question,” I said. “Besides, why should I answer your question if nobody will tell me why Brendon had to die?” 

“Ryan, we all miss Brendon, but death is a natural part of life.”

“That doesn’t make it right to cut a life short like that.”

“Can you please just tell me about your mother?” 

“I haven’t seen her in a while,” I said. “She lives in Las Vegas. I don’t see how this is relevant at all.” 

Frank flipped through his psychology textbook again and then said, “We’ll take a different approach. How about you tell me what’s bothering you?” 

“Isn’t that obvious?” I said. “My boyfriend is dead, and now I’m left alone in this miserable world.” 

“The world isn’t miserable,” Frank said. “Any world that has dogs, chocolate cake, and Gerard Way in it is certainly worth living in.” 

“Those are mere illusions designed to distract you from the truth.”

“What is the truth then?” 

“Life has no meaning, and there is no good reason to stay alive.”

“Ryan, I understand that all of us Guyliner Club members are at least a little bit emo, but don’t you think you’re going a bit too far with it?” 

“I’m serious, Frank,” I said. “There’s nothing left for me without Brendon. I need him to make my life worthwhile, and now he’s gone. What am I supposed to do now?” 

“You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“I think that it is,” Frank said. “Brendon may be dead and gone, believe me, but you’ll carry on.”

I didn’t believe him. The conversation carried on for another few minutes, but Gerard barged in while Frank was trying to convince me that life was in fact worth living. “I thought that you were going to help me with my art project,” he said to Frank. 

“I thought that you finished your senior project,” I said. 

Gerard didn’t give me an explanation, but as I left the room and heard Gerard and Frank making out in the bedroom, I knew exactly what he meant. When I left the Greek Friendship Society house, I felt even more alone than I normally did. All of my friends were in happy relationships, but I had nobody who truly cared about me. I had a handful of friends, but nobody could ever replace Brendon. 

In Flack Hall, I found the record player that I had planned to give to Brendon on his birthday. It was useless without any records to play, but it did seem like a good representation of how I felt at that moment. I was just like that record player - entirely worthless without the other half that I would never see again. 

As I stared at that turntable, Patrick entered the room. “I heard that you had a therapy appointment today,” he said, a little bit too cheerfully. “How did that go?” 

“I think I feel even worse,” I said. 

“Maybe you need a different therapist,” Patrick suggested. 

It wasn’t a bad idea, but I could hardly consider any kind of idea without my grief consuming me yet again. Instead, I looked back at the turntable and wished that I could have the one thing that might cure me of my despair - Brendon Urie.


	42. What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?

Another day went by, and I lost all sense of hope. I was convinced that my life was meaningless, and despite all of my friends’ attempts to comfort me, nothing worked. After all, if the Beatles couldn’t make me feel better, then what hope did I have? 

When I woke up that morning, I checked my email and saw that I had received a message from Dallon Weekes. Although I had no idea why he would email me, I opened up the message. After skimming the email, I realized that it was about Brendon’s funeral. 

I put another X on the calendar to mark the date, but I tried not to dwell on the subject. What was the point? Thinking about Brendon’s funeral would just worsen my mood even more. I tried to distract myself by looking at my other emails, but my mind kept drifting back to Dallon’s email. As I thought about the funeral, I became more and more indignant about it. 

What right did Dallon have to plan Brendon’s funeral? He hardly knew Brendon at the end of his life. As far I knew, he had only visited Brendon once during the entire year. I suspected that Brendon’s parents had only enlisted him because he was a good Mormon boy who went to Yale, but I couldn’t say for sure why he was in charge of all of this. 

I couldn’t help but wonder if Dallon felt the same way as I did when he heard the news of Brendon’s death. Was he experiencing the same breakdown that I was? Did he dream of seeing Brendon again every night like I did? Would he do anything to have just another day with Brendon, or could he shrug and forget about his ex-boyfriend? Perhaps he didn’t care about Brendon, or at least not as much as I did. Dallon did have a new girlfriend, after all. Maybe I was the only one who cared this much about him. 

I put my phone away and got ready for breakfast, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. After eating only a few pieces of fruit, I dragged myself to my classes, but I couldn’t focus. How could I think about my ecology lab when Brendon’s funeral was coming up? 

While Andy collected data for the lab, Patrick asked, “Ryan, are you okay?” 

“I’m not okay,” I told him, and it was the truth. 

“That’s what I thought. Have you found a new therapist yet?” 

“Not yet.”

“You might want to do that,” Patrick said. “By the way, Andy, Joe, Pete, and I were planning to watch the Kale baseball team play Yale today. Do you want to come?” 

I considered Patrick’s offer for a moment. What was the point in going to a baseball game? Even our rivalry with Yale, which had once been so important, seemed empty and meaningless now. The only thing I hadn’t done yet was die, so why would I want to go to a baseball game? Nevertheless, I didn’t want to be rude to Patrick, so I said, “Sure, I’ll go. It sounds kind of fun.” 

“That’s great, Ryan,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see you there,” Andy added as he finished filling out our lab group’s data table. 

Later that day, I walked across campus to the baseball field, but without anyone I loved to share the experience with, there was no reason to care. The other people in line for tickets couldn’t stop chattering about how exciting of a game this would be, but my heart wasn’t in it at all. Why did other people get so invested in such trivial things? Then again, wasn’t everything trivial in the end? With no greater purpose in life, did anything matter?

I found a seat in the student section next to my friends, where Pete was cracking jokes and flirting with Patrick, and Andy was telling Joe about something that had happened in his Vegans United meeting. I tried to watch the game, but I quickly became disinterested. I couldn’t help but feel like my whole life was like that game - a tedious exercise, ultimately signifying nothing. 

Perhaps I would have had fun if Brendon was occupying the tiny space on the bench next to me, but that could never happen. 

About halfway through the game, someone did sit in that tiny space, much to my chagrin. It was none other than Gerard’s younger brother Mikey, wearing a Yale University polo as usual. “Hello there,” he said to me. “I think we’ve met before, but I’ve forgotten your name. What was it again?” 

“Ryan Ross,” I answered. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you again, Ryan Ross,” Mikey said. 

“It’s nice to meet you again too, Mikey,” I said, although I didn’t mean it. He was possibly the last person that I wanted to see at that moment. 

“How are things at Kale?” Mikey asked. “I’ve already heard plenty about the senior art projects from Gerard.” 

“Everything’s going terribly right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I just don’t see the point in living this horrific life that I’m trapped in,” I said as I started out at the field. 

“Maybe you should transfer to Yale if you’re so unhappy at Kale,” Mikey suggested. 

“That’s an awful idea. Kale itself isn’t the issue, and changing schools won’t help.” 

“It was just a suggestion.”

“It wasn’t a very good one,” I said. “You Yale kids think that you know everything, but you don’t.” 

“I never said that I knew everything,” Mikey said, but I didn’t listen to him. 

“You think you know what’s best for the world just because you happen to be attending one of the most prestigious schools in the country, but you’re wrong,” I said. “You don’t know anything, because you’ve never experienced tragedy in your whole life. You’ve been sheltered and caught in an illusion for your whole life. Mikey, do you know what the meaning of life, the universe, and everything is?” 

“It’s forty-two, obviously,” Mikey said. 

I stared at him blankly for a few minutes, confused by his answer. I had expected Mikey to say love or finding happiness, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had shrugged and admitted that he didn’t know. I didn’t know how to respond to Mikey’s claim that forty-two was the meaning of life, so I watched the game and tried to figure out what kind of meaning could possibly exist within that number. 

“You need to ask a better question,” Mikey said. 

“What better question could there be to ask?” I replied, still nonplussed by Mikey’s response. Mikey shrugged, and I said, “I’m being serious. What kind of answer is forty-two?” 

“It’s the meaning of life, the universe, and everything,” Mikey said. 

“Is this some sort of inside joke that you have with your cult at Yale?” 

“I’m not in a cult. I’m in a secret society.” 

“It’s not so secret now that you mentioned it, Mikey!” Gerard shouted from a few rows above us. 

Mikey rolled his eyes and then asked, “How did you even know that I was in the Society of the Semicolon, Ryan?” 

“Gerard told me.”

“That makes sense,” Mikey said. “I guess it doesn’t matter too much if you know that I’m in the Society of the Semicolon, as long as you don’t talk to anyone in the Society of the Exclamation Point. I think those guys might actually be insane. I heard a rumor that they crashed a wedding while dressed up as clowns a few years ago. ” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My point is that not all of Yale’s secret societies are as benevolent as we are.”

“So why is forty-two the meaning of life?” I asked. “Why isn’t it forty-one or forty-three or five hundred and twelve?” 

Mikey simply shook his head and then said, “You don’t get it, do you?” 

“No, I don’t get it.”

“I’m going to go sit by Gerard, if you don’t mind,” Mikey said. “I’ll talk to you later.” Mikey moved over to a different spot in the student section, leaving an empty spot next to me. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mikey had said. 

How could forty-two be the meaning of life? Wasn’t the meaning of life something deeper, if it existed at all? Then again, why couldn’t it be the meaning of life, the universe, and everything? Forty-two being the answer to every question that I had ever had would only emphasize how silly and pointless life was. Even the very act of searching for the meaning of life was ridiculous, because the answer was merely a number. There was no deeper purpose in life, just like there was no deeper purpose behind the number forty-two. 

I had always thought of life as orderly and purposeful, even when I had no idea what that purpose was. However, as I watched the final inning of that baseball game, I realized that life was nothing more than chaos. Brendon may have finally given me a purpose behind everything that I did, but he was just a break from the mayhem of the universe. 

Nevertheless, I realized that I had made the mistake of confusing chaos with meaninglessness. Life did have meaning, even if it was absurd and often made little sense. There were things worth living for within the chaos of life. They may be hard to find, and they may not always last, but it didn’t mean that life wasn’t worth living.

Would I ever find anything like my relationship with Brendon? I wasn’t sure, but perhaps it was worth striving for. I was certain that I would never be able to love someone like I had loved Brendon - he was special in that way - but romance wasn’t the only thing that life had to offer. Some of those things were hard to enjoy without having Brendon to share them with, especially since I couldn’t even go to the Aubergine without longing for him to be by my side again. However, there had to be other reasons to live and other meanings to discover. 

I looked back towards Mikey, who was now engaged in a conversation with his brother. Was Mikey as horrible as I originally thought he was? I did find Mikey to be a little bit irritating, but not everyone at Yale was evil. After all, Brendon used to be a Yale student. I couldn’t be too mean to them. 

After the game was over, I walked back to Flack Hall. I was still carrying the weight of Brendon’s death, but I was feeling a little bit better, even if that feeling was only temporary. The loneliness that had been gnawing at me since Brendon had died was still there, but when I thought of the future, I could finally see myself moving past it. I could go on living, even though Brendon was gone. 

For once, I felt as if I had hope.


	43. What happens after death?

_I think I woke up on the wrong side of paradise,_ I thought as I opened my eyes on the day of Brendon’s funeral. Patrick was still sleeping soundly on the other side of the room, but I couldn’t sleep at all, even though the sun wasn’t up yet. I rolled over in bed and reached for my philosophy homework, hoping to at least get something done.

About an hour later, Patrick woke up. “Ryan, what are you doing up this early in the morning?” he asked me. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“If you’re up, is it okay if I turn on some Elvis Costello?” Patrick asked, proving that despite everything that had happened over the past year, Patrick was still the same boy that he was when we first met. Seasons change, but people don’t, after all. 

“That’s fine,” I said. Patrick turned on his music, and I tried to ignore it as I worked on my homework. I would have to leave for the funeral in a few hours, and it would be best if I could get some of my homework done before it started. 

Those hours went by far too quickly, and before I knew it, it was time to leave. Patrick and I walked to the funeral home on the other end of Old Haven together, and as we walked through the town, I wondered if this was the sort of funeral that Brendon would have wanted. I had never talked to him about things like that, but I suspected that his ideal funeral would have been much more exciting than what his family had actually planned. 

As we approached the funeral home, it was as if I could feel Brendon’s presence. Where was he now? Was there some sort of afterlife that Brendon was living in now, or was he sticking around on Earth, just to haunt me? Maybe he had already been reincarnated, or maybe he truly was gone, and I was only making things up to make myself feel better. Then again, was there any harm in that? Dreaming didn’t hurt anyone. 

I opened the door to the funeral home, and I found Dallon standing near the door. “Hello Ryan,” he said. 

“Hi Dallon,” I said weakly as I looked around the room. There were pictures of Brendon from throughout his life placed on each wall, and I spotted Brendon’s parents and siblings dressed in black on the other end of the room. There were all sorts of other mourners packed into the funeral home, from Brendon’s parents’ friends from Las Vegas to a few of Brendon’s old friends from Yale to people like me who had only known him in the last few years of his life. Our only connection was that we had all known Brendon Urie in some way. For a few moments, I felt as if I wasn’t alone in my pain. 

“When we were together, Brendon once told me that he wanted to be buried in Old Haven,” Dallon said. “I’m glad that we were able to make that work.” 

I ignored Dallon and found the rest of the Guyliner Club crowded around a photo of Brendon singing at the Aubergine. Pete was already sobbing, while Patrick did his best to comfort him. I took a deep breath and told myself that I wouldn’t cry. Brendon would have wanted me to stay strong. I could grieve as much as I wanted once I returned to Flack Hall. 

I moved into the next room and took a seat near my friends. Pete, Patrick, Frank, Gerard, Spencer, and Laura were all right next to me, although I did find Dallon in the seat directly in front of me. As a priest started to speak about a God that Brendon didn’t believe in, I thought again about the unfairness of all of this. Why did he have to die? I knew now that life was nothing but pure chaos, but why did that chaos have to go after my boyfriend? I fought back tears as I thought of all of the people who were attending his funeral. At the very least, Brendon had made an impact on a lot of people in his short life. 

Brendon’s sister gave the first eulogy, giving a rather generic speech about the memories that she had shared with her younger brother. It was clear that she hadn’t really known Brendon, at least not in the way that I had. Then again, what right did I have to complain? I hadn’t known Brendon when he was young, even though we went to the same high school. I slumped back into my chair and listened to Brendon’s sister speak, even though I would have much rather have had him alive and by my side. Then again, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

After she was finished, the priest announced, “Dallon Weekes, Brendon’s best friend, will give the next eulogy.” Dallon got up from his seat and walked to the front of the room, where he took the microphone and began to speak. Nobody in the room, possibly including Dallon himself, seemed willing to acknowledge that he was Brendon’s ex-boyfriend who hadn’t even talked to him in nearly a year, but I kept my frustration to myself. Did the title of “best friend” mean anything anyways? I figured that it wasn’t worth getting worked up over, so I took a deep breath once again and listened to Dallon tell everyone about Brendon’s enthusiastic nature and his singing, dancing, and acting talent. 

The final eulogy was Gerard’s. When Dallon returned to his seat, Gerard stood up and walked calmly up to the front of the room. I could hardly hear him over Dallon’s sobs from the row in front of me. At last, I could see that Dallon was in the same pain I was in. As he cried, I tried to keep myself from breaking down too, but the hole in my heart wouldn’t stop growing. I knew that both of us were in agony - was there any way to make it stop? 

When Dallon’s sobs quieted down, I finally got a chance to listen to Gerard’s eulogy. He talked about how much Brendon meant to all of his friends at the Aubergine, and how much we would miss him. At the end, he declared, “Brendon Urie was too weird to live and too rare to die,” making just about everyone attending the funeral tear up. 

To conclude the ceremony, a few of Brendon’s favorite songs played, ranging from classic rock songs to show tunes. At first, I was able to have some composure, but I lost it when “Blackbird” began to play. Normally, hearing the Beatles filled me with joy, but tears came to my eyes when I thought of how Brendon and I shared our love for the band. 

At that moment, a dark thought entered my mind. What if it was my fault that Brendon died? I hadn’t called 911 nearly as quickly as I should have, and perhaps if someone had helped Brendon earlier, he could have lived. Maybe he and I would be hanging out at the Aubergine or going on a date, but instead, he was in a coffin and I was at his funeral. Did this mean that I killed Brendon? Was all of my suffering my own fault? If there was an afterlife somewhere, would he ever forgive me for this? I convinced myself that it was all my fault that Brendon was dead, and I cried even harder. 

There was a brief reception after the ceremony, with some of Brendon’s favorite snacks, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. How could I even attempt to celebrate Brendon’s life when it was my fault that he was dead? Besides, there wasn’t much to celebrate when Brendon had lived such a short life. He didn’t have the time to change the world or even come close. Then again, most people don’t change the world. Everybody wants to, but no one wants to die. 

Why do so many people live their lives like that, managing to live for decades upon decades without doing anything at all? Brendon had only lived for twenty one years, but he had managed to change my life, along with Dallon’s, Spencer’s, and countless others. Perhaps changing other people’s lives was the true goal of life. If that was the case, then that made what I had done even worse. I had killed Brendon before he had the chance to affect even more lives. What else could he have done if he had the chance to live longer? 

I didn’t even want to think about it. At that moment, I hated myself for what I had done. I was a philosopher. The word itself meant “wisdom lover,” but I didn’t have enough wisdom to save my boyfriend. What kind of a philosopher was I then? For that matter, what kind of person was I? No matter how I looked at it, I had failed Brendon and everyone else in the room. Brendon had believed that I would never wrong him, and yet, I had wronged him in the worst possible way. Everyone at the funeral was there because they loved Brendon, and I had failed them because it was my fault that he was dead. The pain that I had gone through since his death was not mine alone. Everyone who was there shared that pain, and I had made all of them suffer. 

I wished that I had seen my mistakes earlier, but there was no point in dwelling on the past. I couldn’t go back and fix it, although I wished that I could. I wanted nothing more than to go back in time and call 911 earlier, or perhaps hold that intervention a few days before Brendon’s birthday instead of deciding to wait until afterwards. Brendon might have been annoyed, but it could have saved his life. Why hadn’t I thought of these things before? 

Patrick found me sitting by myself, bawling my eyes out. He took a seat next to me and said, “Ryan, are you okay?” 

It was a question that I had been asked far too often since Brendon’s death. “Not at all,” I said. 

Patrick gave me a hug and then said, “I understand. It’s hard losing someone that you love.” 

“I don’t think you understand.”

“I get it, Ryan. I was friends with Brendon too.” 

I sighed and nodded, even though I was still sure that although Patrick did miss Brendon, he wasn’t in the same kind of pain that I was. 

“This might be a bad time to mention this, but I scheduled an appointment with the Kale University Mental Health office for you,” Patrick said. 

“Frank’s been doing a great job,” I said. “Besides, how am I going to afford that?” 

“Counseling is free through the university,” Patrick said. “It’s included in your tuition.” He sighed and added, “Frank’s a great guy, but he’s clearly not cutting it as a therapist.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Frank exclaimed. 

“Please don’t take it personally,” Patrick said. “I just want Ryan to get better.” 

“Me too,” Frank said. “He might need some professional help to get past this.” 

I contemplated it for a few minutes, but I decided that my friends were right. Brendon still haunted me, and perhaps I did need a professional to help me move on from this, especially since I knew that it was my fault. I gave Patrick and Frank a small nod, and Patrick said, “Come on. Let’s go home.” 

I followed Patrick back to Flack Hall, barely able to breathe through my tears. I knew I was a wreck, but at that point, there was nothing else that I could be. How else was I supposed to react? I stumbled into my residence hall, and as I did, the only thing I wanted was to have Brendon back.


	44. Do I know anything about recovery?

A few days after Brendon’s funeral, I found myself in the Shufflebottom Center for my first appointment with my counselor. I worked on my Morals, Values, and Ethics homework while I waited outside her office, reading a used copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra by my new favorite author, Friedrich Nietzsche. There were a few other students waiting near the Mental Health Services office, but I didn’t recognize any of them. After a few minutes went by, a brown-skinned woman in her thirties called me into her office and carefully closed the door. 

She told me to have a seat, and I sat down on the armchair waiting in the far corner of her office. The walls were covered with inspirational posters of every variety, and I thought it was slightly unnerving how much positivity was being exerted onto me from my counselor’s office. I tried to relax, but it was nearly impossible, so I took a breath, read the name tag that my counselor was wearing, and said, “Hello Ms. Harley.” 

“Just call me Tazanna,” she said. “You’re Ryan Ross, right?” I nodded, and after asking me a handful of preliminary questions, Tazanna asked, “So Ryan, what’s bothering you today? Your roommate has already told me a few things, but I’d like to hear it from you.” 

That was when it all spilled out. I told Tazanna everything that had happened to me over the last month, and despite my long-winded descriptions and philosophical tangents, she listened to me. It was a feeling that I wasn’t used to. Usually, nobody listened when I spoke. Even Brendon had done his fair share of smiling and nodding along. Tazanna, however, was different. She took in everything that I had to say, and when all of the fuzz and stuffing had come out of me, she said, “I can see why you’re having a hard time moving past your boyfriend’s death, Ryan, but there is still hope out there. We’ll work together, and you can make it through this.” 

“Is it my fault?” I asked her. 

“Brendon’s death?” Tazanna said. “Of course not. You said that he was an alcoholic, right?” I nodded, and she continued, “It was his disease that killed him, not you. Alcoholism is a disease, just like any other, and you can’t blame yourself for it.” 

“I failed Brendon though,” I said. “I should have done something sooner. He could have lived if I had called 911 as soon as I saw him.” 

“You did the best that you could,” Tazanna said. “Ryan, it’s not your fault. You have a long, meaningful life ahead of life, and you need to take advantage of that. Focusing on Brendon and any mistakes that you might have made won’t help you. You can’t be afraid to keep on living.” 

The rest of our forty five minute session flew by, but those words stuck with me. Was I afraid to live? Was that what was keeping me from moving on? I considered the idea, and in the end, I realized that Tazanna was right. I was terrified of living a life without Brendon there to encourage me and keep me company. What kind of life would I be living without my soulmate? Wasn’t a lifetime of loneliness something that anyone would be frightened of? I wasn’t afraid of dying alone, but the thought of living alone scared the hell out of me. 

That night, I went to the Aubergine a little bit earlier than usual. If I was going to face my fear of living alone, I figured that I might as well start early. However, as soon as I stepped through the doors, memories of Brendon began to haunt me. I still couldn’t get used to looking around the bar and not seeing his oversized forehead and goofy smile. There was a whole sea of people, but none of them were Brendon Urie. The Aubergine just wasn’t the same without him. It had lost every spark of magic. 

All of a sudden, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Laura. “Hi Ryan,” she said. “What’s up?” 

“I wish Brendon was here,” I said. 

“Me too. The Aubergine’s a different place now that he’s gone.” 

“I agree, but then again, it’s the people that are here that make the Aubergine so special in the first place. Wouldn’t the Aubergine become a different place if any of us left?” 

“That’s true. I think Brendon had an especially large impact though, even if his aesthetic was horrible.” 

“You don’t mean that, right?” 

“I meant it. They say to never speak ill of the dead, but his fashion sense was pretty awful.” 

“Laura, don’t say that,” Patrick interrupted. “Ryan, how did your appointment go?” 

“I think it went okay,” I said. “I have another appointment with Tazanna next week.” 

“That’s good to hear,” Patrick said. 

I looked towards the clock and saw that it was nine in the afternoon. I ran over to the piano bench, and Spencer and I began to play. The music just wasn’t the same without Brendon’s voice. Knowing that I would never hear that voice again broke my heart, but I tried my best to press on. I played those chords, just like I was supposed to, and after I was done, I rushed out of the Aubergine. Being there was too painful for me to bear for more than a few hours. 

However, I didn’t feel like going back to the Kale University campus quite yet. Instead, I wandered around downtown Old Haven, hoping to confront a few more of my fears. I walked past the record store and the Thai restaurant, and even though it hurt, I did feel a little bit closer to Brendon. Wherever he was, I knew that he wasn’t as far away as I had thought that he was. Maybe we would even see each other again one day. 

I imagined Brendon walking beside me as I strolled around the town, taking in the spring air. For a moment, I felt whole again. Brendon and I were together once again, even if it was only in my mind. However, I realized there was nothing but empty space next to me, and the moment faded away. No matter how many times I imagined Brendon being there, I was still alone. 

I returned to Flack Hall, trapped within my loneliness. Perhaps Tazanna was right. I was afraid to walk this world alone, but how could I overcome that fear when I still had all of those memories? I knew what it was like to have a soulmate, so how could I go back to being alone? I hoped that Tazanna would give me a few answers, or at least show me how to find them myself. 

A few days passed by, and I realized that finals were coming up quickly. My Public Policy grades had improved, but they still weren’t fantastic, so I met Pete in Beauregard Library for a tutoring session. When I got there, I saw that there was a box with tiny holes in it on the table. “What’s that?” I asked him. 

“Shh,” he said. “It’s Patrick’s birthday present.” 

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t ask him any more questions. He quizzed me for a while on every topic that we had studied in that class, and when we had finally gone through all of the questions in the review book, Pete said, “You’re getting a lot better at this, Ryan.” 

“Thanks Pete,” I said. 

“I almost forgot to tell you this, but I voted for your motto. I think ‘The piano knows something I don’t know’ would be a pretty cool school motto for next year.” 

“I’m glad you like it.”

Pete laughed and then said, “I remember Brendon’s face when I first told him about the fact that our motto changes every year, and that it’s made up by the freshman philosophy students. He didn’t believe me at all.” 

At first, it pained me to hear Brendon’s name, but my curiosity got the better of me. “Tell me more.”

“I explained the whole system to him, but he still didn’t believe me,” Pete said. “I had to pull up the Kale University website on my phone to prove it. He had just dropped out of Yale, and I think that school’s mindset was still ingrained into him. What’s their motto anyways? Veritas or something like that?” 

“That’s Harvard.”

“Whatever. It’s pretentious and it’s in Latin. We may be getting our degrees in the gutter and our hearts broken in the dorms of the Ivy Leagues, but at least our mottos are slightly less pretentious than theirs are.” 

“This kind of reminds me of that time when Brendon tried to get me to sign up for a musical theater class. I can’t sing, dance, or act at all, but Brendon thought that I would have a shot at it for some crazy reason.” 

“Brendon did the same thing to me a few times. No matter how many times I told him that I was majoring in political science, he tried to talk me into taking musical theater.” 

“At least he got me to have some new experiences. I don’t think that I ever would have tried vegan Rocky Road ice cream if it wasn’t for Brendon.” 

“Brendon taught me how to play bass guitar. I’m still not very good at it, but maybe I’ll start a band someday or something like that.” 

“You should. You could be a rock star, Pete.” 

Pete laughed and said, “Probably not, but I do have a few pieces of emo poetry that I can use for song lyrics. Then again, the poets are just kids who didn’t make it...” 

“Don’t say that. I’m sure your poetry is brilliant. Did you know that Brendon used to have a whole room full of instruments in his apartment?”

“Really? That’s so cool.” 

“It was neat. He also had a stack of records that he couldn’t actually play. That’s why I wanted to get him that turntable.” 

“He would have loved it,” Pete said sadly. “Brendon was a great musician. He always did such a great job of singing at the Aubergine.” 

“His voice was so beautiful.”

“I agree. Remember when he wrote that song for you? I always thought that was so cute.” 

“I thought so too,” I said with a smile. Before long, Pete and I were doing nothing but smiling, laughing, and sharing our memories of Brendon. For once, thinking about him didn’t worry me anymore. I was embracing the whole house of memories that I had shared with Brendon, and it felt wonderful. 

Perhaps this was proof that there were good things out there. Brendon was one of the best things that had ever happened to me, and although his death turned even my favorite memories of him into bittersweet moments, that didn’t mean that they weren’t worth remembering. Brendon was gone now, but I could still make more happy memories. Although it would take a little bit more time to move past his death completely, I knew that I would be happy again. 

After Pete and I finished our tutoring session, we went to Room 27 to deliver Patrick’s present. As we walked, I wondered what the meaning of life was once again. Was it truly forty-two, like Mikey had said? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was forty-two, or maybe it was something deeper. Was the meaning of life even worth searching for anymore? I thought that it was. There was a reason why I was here, and I had to find it. Life did have meaning, even if I had to make it for myself.

Pete knocked on the door, and when Patrick answered, he gave him a quick kiss and then handed him his present. Patrick tore it open, and his eyes lit up when he saw an adorable baby bunny inside. Normally, I would have been jealous, knowing that Brendon and I could have had a moment like that, but for once, I shared in Patrick’s joy. After all, even if he was dead and gone, Brendon would always be there to guide me. I was never all alone.


	45. Who am I?

I spent the next week studying for finals, attending the last Guyliner Club meeting of the year, and meeting with Tazanna one more time. It still hurt every time someone brought up Brendon, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as it used to be. It had once been a stabbing wound, but now, thinking of Brendon produced only a dull ache. My heart would never fully heal, but I could live with that. 

During the second week of May, I took final exams for each of my classes. Ancient Philosophy and Morals, Values, and Ethics were both relatively easy, but despite all of my studying, the final exam for Principles of Ecology was nearly impossible. It didn’t help that I couldn’t focus during the test. The room was completely silent, but I could still hear Brendon’s voice in the distance, singing to me. I knew that it was all in my head - what other explanation was there? - but it felt real to me. 

When I talked to Patrick and Andy about the exam at lunch, they both told me it was an easy test. I wondered if they had gotten a different version of the test than the one I had. Then again, some things are subjective. Perhaps they simply found the exam to be easier than I thought that it was. I tried not to think too hard about it as I munched on a slice of pizza. 

“What’s your next exam?” Andy asked us. 

“I have stats next,” Patrick said. “I’m a little nervous, but I’m going out with Pete after the test, so I have something to look forward to.” 

Patrick smiled, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Before his death, Brendon and I had shared a connection, one that was just as deep or even deeper than the one that Pete and Patrick had. However, Brendon was gone, and I couldn’t see myself loving anyone else romantically ever again. How could I love someone who wasn’t my soulmate? What would be the point? Why would I want to date someone else when I would always be comparing him to Brendon? 

Although I had already decided that I didn’t want another romantic relationship, I still longed for Brendon while I watched my friends fall in love. There was a part of me that missed the idea of being in a relationship. I realized that I would never go on another date or feel Brendon’s lips on mine, but it was painful to think about too much. I would have to accept it eventually, but for now, denial worked just fine. 

As Patrick blabbered on about Pete, I simply tuned him out and continued to eat. After lunch, I headed over to the Beiju History Center for my Public Policy exam. I still wasn’t great at the subject, but why did it matter if I was majoring in philosophy? Did anything matter at all? Nevertheless, I tried my best not to ask Professor Higgins too many philosophical questions, although I did have to ask her to define “power” in the context of the essay question that she gave me. She just gave me an exasperated look and walked away, so I wrote my essay about the many definitions of power in the context of American society. 

As I tried to figure out whether I was answering the prompt or not, an idea came to me. I wasn’t certain that it was a good idea, but as I wrote the final paragraph of my essay, I heard Brendon whispering to me. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but it sounded encouraging, so I decided to call Spencer and ask him about it after the exam was over. 

I wrote the last sentence of my essay just as Professor Higgins told the class that our time was up. I shoved my pencil back into my backpack and left the building, and when I returned to Flack Hall, I picked up my phone and called Spencer. “Hello?” Spencer said. 

“Hi Spencer. It’s Ryan. I just wanted to ask you about something.” 

“What is it?” 

“How would you feel if I sang at the Aubergine?”

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer replied, “We do need a singer. It won’t be the same as having Brendon there, but I guess we could try it.” 

“Nothing could ever be the same as having Brendon there. We could have the best singer in the world come to the Aubergine, and it still wouldn’t be the same.” 

“I agree. The music just sounds wrong without someone singing though. I think Brendon would want you to do it, and you’d probably be good at it too.” 

“Thanks Spencer.”

“You might want to ask Heidi first, but I don’t think she’ll mind. I’ll see you tonight, Ryan.” 

“See you soon.” 

I turned off my phone, and as the hours ticked by, I became increasingly nervous. What if something went wrong? What if the people at the Aubergine didn’t like my voice? What if I was off-key or off-rhythm? Somehow, Brendon managed to sing flawlessly, but I didn’t think that I could ever do the same. I wasn’t Brendon, and the best I could do was to honor his memory in this small way. Could I even do that? 

I continued to worry all the way to the Aubergine, and I was shaking as I approached Heidi. I explained my idea to her, and to my surprise, she liked it. “I think Brendon would appreciate having you sing,” Heidi said. “I just wish he was here to hear it.” 

“Me too,” I said. There was nothing that I wanted more than to have Brendon onstage with me to comfort me, but that couldn’t happen. All I had was Spencer and Heidi and the nagging voice in my head. 

When the clock struck nine, I sat down on the piano bench and began to play. At first, everything was perfectly normal, but after a few bars, I knew that it was my turn to sing. I took a deep breath, but when I opened my mouth, no sound would come out. I panicked as the audience looked at me expectantly. What was I supposed to do? 

“Come on, Ryan,” Spencer said. “You can do this.” 

Spencer was right. I had to push through my worries and self-doubt. I tried again, and this time, the song came to me easily. My voice didn’t sound nearly as beautiful as Brendon’s, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone in the crowd cheered anyways, and I swore that I could see Brendon standing in the back of the room with a peach and lime daiquiri in his hand, smiling and singing along. Maybe he was a ghost now, or maybe he was just a figment of my imagination, but knowing that Brendon was there did make me feel a little bit better. 

I began to relax as the night went on. Slowly but surely, I became used to the sound of my own voice replacing Brendon’s. The songs still sounded a little bit off without him, but there was no way to fix that. There would always be a hole in our little band without Brendon. This was the closest that Spencer and I could get to truly having him there. 

The show finally ended, and everyone at the Aubergine applauded. It was more than just the polite applause that we had received every other night. This time, I could tell that the Aubergine patrons genuinely loved our performance. Spencer and I hadn’t sounded this good since Brendon’s death, and even though I would never hear him sing again, we could still move on. 

After the show, I stayed at the Aubergine for a little while. “Ryan, that sounded wonderful,” Patrick told me. 

“It was really good,” Frank said as he sipped on his drink. “I still wish Brendon was here, but I think that you might be the next best singer that we have.” 

“Nobody could ever be as beautiful of a singer as Brendon,” I said. “I could never get sick of hearing him sing.” 

“Me neither,” Frank said. 

“Patrick’s a pretty good singer too,” Pete said. “Did you know that he has a soul voice?” 

“Pete, you know that I don’t like to show off…” Patrick said. 

“Come on, Patrick,” Pete said. “Your voice is incredible.” 

Patrick sighed and sang a few bars, and as it turned out, both Brendon and Pete were right. Patrick did have a soul voice. 

“Oh my God, that sounds like soul!” Gerard exclaimed. 

All of us laughed, and Patrick awkwardly said, “I’m really not that great of a singer. I personally think that I'm better on the drums than I am on vocals.” 

“I didn’t know that you played the drums either,” I said. 

“Patrick’s full of surprises, isn’t he?” Pete said as he kissed Patrick’s cheek. 

At that moment, I realized just how important my friends were. In high school, I hadn’t had friends like Patrick, Pete, Frank, or Gerard, and I knew that they were the key to making it through the chaotic, unpredictable mess that my life had become. Even if I had turned my back on romantic love, I still had people that I cared about. I was never truly alone in life. 

On my way out of the Aubergine, I ran into Spencer. “You did such a great job tonight, Ryan,” he said. 

“So did you,” I said with a smile. 

“Are you going to sing every night now?” 

“I think so. It was kind of fun, and everyone seemed to like it.” 

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ryan.” 

“See you tomorrow, Spencer.”

As I walked back to Flack Hall, I thought about the person I had become over the last year. I rarely thought about my identity, because I had better questions running through my mind, such as what made a crowd turn away from a tune, but in the end, I knew who I was. I was a freshman at Kale University. I was a student, a dreamer, a loyal employee at the Aubergine Dream, and a friend. I still thought of myself as Brendon’s boyfriend, which was possibly the real reason why I had such a hard time moving on after his death. Most of all, I was Ryan Ross, a philosopher who was no longer afraid to keep on living, or at least that was what I told myself. 

My heart was still broken, but it was beginning to heal. Singing at the Aubergine would certainly help me, and so would my therapy sessions with Tazanna. My heart would probably never fully recover, and I would never go back to being the same person that I was, but how could I recover? Was it possible to ever be the same person when something so tragic and momentous had happened to me? Perhaps the core tenants of my being were still there, but everything else that I thought I was had been wiped away over the course of the school year. I never would have dreamed that all of this could have happened to me - that I could have fallen in love with my soulmate and then lost him within a single year - yet it had happened. It was only proof that life was nothing more than chaos. However, that didn’t scare me so much anymore. 

I was awake and unafraid as I entered Flack Hall and climbed upstairs. Thoughts of Brendon still plagued me, but I wasn’t so scared of being lonely anymore. What else could the world throw at me that was worse than Brendon dying? If I could survive that, I knew that I could survive anything.


	46. What is philosophy anyways?

Not long after finals, Professor Caldwell told me that the student body of Kale University had chosen my motto. Once I heard the news, I knew what I had to do. I rushed to the Kale University bookstore, and when I got there, I saw that there were huge stacks of red and black T-shirts for sale. I found a T-shirt that read “The piano knows something I don’t know,” and I purchased it. 

Perhaps it was a little bit egotistical to buy a T-shirt with my own motto on it, but was there really any harm in it? If anything, I was only fitting in with the rest of the school. Even as I bought the shirt, there were two girls in line with me who were buying T-shirts that were identical to mine. It seemed that I had started a trend. 

I thought of all of the high school seniors who had just decided to attend Kale University. If they were anything like me, all of them had just bought a red and black T-shirt with the words “The piano knows something I don’t know” on it. I remembered back to the previous year, when I had just been accepted to Kale. I could have never predicted all of the craziness that would happen to me during my freshman year.

I threw my new shirt on and took a quick walk around campus. Everywhere I went, I saw other people wearing my black and red T-shirt. When I reached the statue of M.C. Moneybags, I stopped to appreciate whoever had created a crown of kale and placed it on his head. Where did creativity like this come from? I never would have thought of all of Kale University’s traditions, but they were some of my favorite parts of attending Kale. Then again, what didn’t I love about Kale?

The university itself hadn’t been the paradise that I had dreamed of in high school. There was no such thing as a perfect school, yet even after losing Brendon and despite the school’s imperfections, I loved Kale. Why did I love Kale so much? I thought about it for a while, and I decided that most of it was the people in Old Haven. Both in and out of the classroom, I had found true friends. Even though Brendon was gone now, he had been one of those true friends, and at that moment, I didn’t regret a single moment of our relationship. 

I sat on a bench next to the statue for a little while, watching Kale students pass by. Kale wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t beautiful. As I sat there, I realized just how little time I had in Old Haven. I would have to leave for Las Vegas in two days, and I wouldn’t see the Kale campus again until fall arrived. I reminded myself to stay in touch with the many friends I had made at Kale. 

That evening, Spencer and I played our last show at the Aubergine for the school year. My voice still wasn’t as gorgeous as Brendon’s, but Spencer and I still sounded okay. We played through the set, and for the first time, I let myself have a little bit of fun at the Aubergine. The bar would never be quite the same without Brendon, but it was still a lovely place, even without anyone to share it with.

As the final piano chord resonated in my ears, I wondered if there were any more secrets left for the piano to share with me. Of course there are, I thought. There are always more questions to ask, and there are always more answers to find. That was the whole point of philosophy, after all. Why would I major in philosophy if I didn’t want to uncover the many mysteries of human nature? The answers were up there somewhere, and it was up to all of us to find them. 

I said goodbye to Spencer after the show was over. He wrapped me in a tight hug and then said, “You’re coming back next year, right?” 

“Yes, I think so.”

“Great. It’s been a crazy year, but we both made it through.” 

“Thanks for all of your support, by the way. I don’t think I would have made it through Brendon’s death without you.” I still wished that Brendon was there, having that conversation with us, but all of my hopes and prayers were useless. I couldn’t change the past, no matter how much I wanted to. 

“What are friends for, Ryan?” Spencer said with a smile. 

“I can’t believe that you’re going to be a senior next year.”

“Me neither. Are you going to watch this year’s seniors graduate?” 

“I did tell Gerard and Laura that I was going to go. I’ll miss both of them next year.” 

“Me too. Well, I guess I’ll see you next year, Ryan, if I don’t see you at graduation.” 

“Bye Spencer,” I said, glad that I had gotten the chance to say goodbye to one of my closest friends. 

The next day, I sat through far more speeches and renditions of Pomp and Circumstance than I needed to as I watched the Kale University Class of 2018 graduate. I let out a cheer when Laura and Gerard received their diplomas, but there were also a lot of students that I had never met. Other than a few familiar faces, the graduating class was nothing more than a sea of strangers in caps and gowns. Nevertheless, I applauded politely as they tossed their caps into the air and walked through the Kale University gates one last time. 

I reminded myself that I would be in their place in another three years. Someday, my friends and I would have to graduate and venture out into the world, where we would have to find a job to pay our bills. Life wasn’t just treehouses and rocket ships, but that didn’t worry me. I already knew that life could be a harrowing series of torments and misery, but there were also beautiful things in life that made everything else seem like it was worth it.

After the ceremony was over, I got a brief opportunity to chat with Gerard and Laura before they left campus. “Ryan, please make sure that you get one of the freshmen to join the Guyliner Club next year,” Gerard told me. “We need to make sure that the club keeps going.” 

“Gerard, you really need to get your priorities straight,” Laura said. 

“I do have my priorities straight,” Gerard said. “The Guyliner Club’s survival is incredibly important.” 

Laura rolled her eyes, but I understood Gerard’s point. “I’ll do the best I can,” I told him. 

“That’s all I want,” Gerard said. “I’m not too concerned though. I told Frank that I wouldn’t come back to visit him at Kale unless there were at least six Guyliner Club members. I think that will motivate him to do some recruiting.” 

Laura laughed and then said, “That’s a little ambitious, Gerard. We barely managed to have five people this year.” 

“If anyone can do it, Frank can.” Gerard sighed and then said, “I’m going to miss Kale.” 

“Me too,” Laura said. 

“Well, congratulations to both of you,” I said. Gerard and Laura both thanked me, and I headed back to Flack Hall to pack up my things. When I entered Room 27, Patrick was already there, cleaning up his side of the dorm room. I turned on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and all of a sudden, it was just like the beginning of the year, when Patrick and I were moving into Flack Hall. Now, only a few short months later, we were both moving out. It was crazy to think about how much had changed throughout the year, but at the same time, so much had stayed the same. 

Would Patrick and I still be friends next year? I had overheard Pete and Patrick talking about rooming together, so I wasn’t even sure if Patrick and I would be roommates next year. How could we still be friends when we had so little in common? 

“Patrick, we’ll still be friends next year, right?” I said. 

“Of course,” Patrick said. “Why wouldn’t we?” 

“We just have such different interests sometimes,” I said. “How are we going to keep up with each other if we don’t live together?” 

“We’ll make some time to hang out together,” Patrick said. “Besides, Pete and I haven’t finalized anything. If we don’t end up rooming together, I’d love to live with you again next year. We’ve had our disagreements, but you’ve been a great roommate, Ryan.” 

“So have you, Patrick,” I said. 

Patrick smiled and returned to packing up his stuff, while I collected all of my things and stuffed them into suitcases. As I did so, I thought of Brendon again. If he was here, he would have been helping me pack. It would have been so much more fun to have him there, and perhaps I would have even been able to live with Brendon during my sophomore year. His death had closed so many doors for me, and I didn’t want to think about all of the wonderful changes he could have made in the world if he had lived longer. Someone so young didn’t deserve to die, but I couldn’t do anything about it now other than wallow in my own sorrows, and what was the point of that? Was that how Brendon would have wanted me to live my life? 

I finished packing up everything, and after I finished, I turned off the music and walked to the Shufflebottom Center for the last time that year. I met with Tazanna and talked to her about finals and the Aubergine and Brendon Urie, hoping that she could fix me in forty five. Perhaps my heart would never fully repair itself, but the therapy sessions were helping. After that meeting, Tazanna referred me to a therapist she knew in Las Vegas. “I think she’ll be able to keep an eye on you over the summer,” Tazanna told me. “You’ve been showing some improvement, so perhaps I won’t need to see you next year. I’m always here if you need me though.” 

“Thank you, Tazanna,” I said. “You’ve helped me a lot.” 

“You’re welcome, Ryan,” Tazanna said. “I’m glad that you’ve been able to come this far.” 

After my therapy session, I headed to the dining hall and ate one last meal with all of my closest friends. As Joe, Patrick, and Andy chatted about their summer plans, I reflected on the past year. Why had I decided to major in philosophy anyways? It wasn’t because I thought that I would get a job, or because anyone had told me that it was a good idea. Instead, it was a passion that came from deep within me, rather like my love for Brendon. I couldn’t deny my love for philosophy, and after my year at Kale, I could say that majoring in philosophy was one of the best decisions that I had made all year. 

So many of my core beliefs had been completely shattered over the course of the year, but wasn’t that the point of philosophy? My ultimate goal was to find the deepest truths that explained why we humans acted the way we did, and I was closer than ever to finding it. However, I still had a long way to go. There was so much that I didn’t know, and for once, I was fine with that. What would I do if there were no more questions left to ask? It was an impossible scenario, but it was an idea that terrified me. Perhaps it was best that there were still mysteries to solve.

Even without a soulmate to guide and support me, I knew that my life wasn’t totally meaningless. I could find my way through the chaos to find something that resembled order, and if I was lucky, Brendon and I would find each other again one day. We were two halves of one whole, and for once, I let myself have a little bit of hope that we could be together again.


	47. Why?

Patrick woke me up at around five o’clock by blasting an Elvis Costello song into my ears, but for once, I didn’t resent him for it. I did have to head to the airport, and waking up early would give me a nice opportunity to pack up my last few items before I left. I yawned as I rolled out of bed, but I told myself that I could get some sleep later. I would be home all summer, and I could sleep when I got there. 

I stuffed a few last minute things into my backpack, and then I walked to the dining hall with Patrick. After both of us had loaded our plates with pancakes, Patrick babbled about the summer job that he had found. “I’m going to be working at a pet store!” Patrick said, smiling. “The manager even said that he would put me in charge of the bunnies. I can’t wait!” 

I tried to listen to Patrick, but I was far too tired to pay him any attention. Instead, I focused on eating my breakfast. I did think that Patrick’s new job would suit him better than the internship that he’d had during the school year. I reminded myself to ask him about it again when I had a little bit more energy. 

After breakfast, Patrick, who had an even earlier flight than I did, took a taxi to the airport. Once he had left, I took one last walk around campus, watching all of the buildings light up as the sun rose. Was this what beauty looked like? Surely, nothing could be as beautiful as Brendon, but the sunrise at Kale University came close. How could I say that anything was beautiful anyways, if nothing could compare to Brendon? For that matter, who was I to judge what beauty was? I let those questions empty out of my mind and simply watched the sun rise. 

When the bright colors began to drain away, I left the Kale campus for the last time that year. As I walked through the Kale University gates, I officially said goodbye to my freshman year. I wasn’t sure whether my first year of college had been a dream or a nightmare, and I certainly wasn’t sure how to feel now that it was over. Was I supposed to feel glad that it was all over, or should I be heartbroken, already nostalgic for the golden days of my freshman year? In the end, I felt a mix of the two. I suspected that was how life was. It was a concoction of triumphs and tragedies, of vices and virtues, and the only thing that I could do was deal with whatever was thrown at me. 

I walked further down the sidewalk until I reached the Old Haven Cemetery. When I got there, I wandered through the cemetery, searching for one particular grave. At first, I couldn’t find it, but I did walk past dozens of other graves. I wondered what sorts of lives these people had led. Did any of these people deserve to die? Was one life ever more important than another? It was easy to say that Brendon was the most important person in the world to me, but I was only one man. The other people buried here had families and friends and lovers, just like Brendon had. In the end, I couldn’t answer my own question. It was an impossible conundrum, just like so many things in life. 

When I did find Brendon’s grave, I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed it earlier. It was by far the newest grave in the cemetery, and I walked right up to it and placed my hand over the tombstone. I let out a single tear before I remembered what I was here to do. 

I reached into my backpack, took out a bouquet of roses, and placed it next to Brendon’s tombstone. I thought it was fitting that this had been the first gift that Brendon had given me, and now I was giving it back to him. It was a small gesture, and perhaps it would have worked better if he was still alive to appreciate it, but it was the least that I could do for my soulmate.

I left the roses next to Brendon’s grave as I left the cemetery and caught a taxi to the airport. However, as I checked my bags and went through security, I couldn’t stop thinking about Brendon. My relationship with him had been one of the best parts of my freshman year, yet his death had nearly ruined it. Nevertheless, I was glad I had met him. 

My horrible luck popped up once again when my flight was delayed. I was stuck at gate L8 for four miserable hours, but I managed to occupy myself by talking to the woman in the seat next to mine and reading the handful of Socratic dialogues that we hadn’t read in Ancient Philosophy. By the time we were finally allowed to board, I was entirely engrossed in one of the dialogues, and I continued to read it as the plane took off. 

However, it was impossible to focus on anything when there was a toddler directly behind me, kicking my seat. Eventually, I put the book away and tried to watch the in-flight movie, but it wasn’t particularly exciting, so I quickly became bored again. I plugged my headphones into my phone and blasted the Beatles into my ears in an attempt to tune out the child complaining to its mother, and as I listened, I thought of Brendon’s far too short life once again. He could have done so much, but his alcoholism had stolen that opportunity from him. It wasn’t fair at all - he was far too young to die. There was nothing that I could do about it though. 

_That’s not quite true,_ I realized. I couldn’t bring Brendon back to life, but I could honor his memory. As I sat there, buckled into my rather uncomfortable seat on an airplane cruising towards Las Vegas, I told myself that I wouldn’t be like everyone else. I would keep on living, and I would change the world. Fate had denied Brendon the opportunity to do something truly great, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure exactly how I would lead my life yet - after all, what kind of college student truly has their whole life planned out? I did know, however, that I would find a way to make an impact on the world, and I would do it all for Brendon. 

A few hours later, the plane finally landed in Las Vegas. With a renewed sense of purpose, I got off of the plane and ventured into McCarran International Airport. Already, my heart ached for Old Haven and my college friends, but I knew that they were never too far away from me. My phone buzzed with texts from my friends, most of whom were already at home, telling their families about the end of their freshman year and unpacking their things. I shoved my phone deeper into my pocket. Although my friends were important, I could talk to them later. For now, I had to find my mother. 

I made my way past rows of slot machines on my way to baggage claim, keeping an eye out for Mom. I bought myself a bagel and collected my suitcases, but I still couldn’t find her. After a few more minutes of searching, I found her waiting near the baggage claim. She enveloped me in a hug, and I couldn’t help but smile and appreciate everything that she had done for me over the years. 

“Hi Ryan,” she said. “How have you been?” 

I sighed and said, “That’s a little bit of a long story. I’ll tell you about it when we get home.” 

“Are you sure? I’d love to hear about it now.” 

“I’m sure.”

“Alright, but we have to go out to eat tonight,” Mom said. “All of that dining hall food couldn’t have been very appetizing.” 

I started to object that the food at Kale was actually quite good, if a little monotonous, but I stopped myself. Was there a point in arguing with Mom over something like this? She was taking me out to dinner, and I couldn’t argue that the food in Las Vegas was just as good as, if not better than, the food back in Old Haven. 

I followed Mom to the car, and as she turned on Las Vegas’ classic rock station, my mind drifted away again. The familiar desert scenery and the sight of the Las Vegas Strip in the distance made me think, perhaps a little bit too much. “Why?” I asked myself. “Why am I here? Why am I alive, why does anything exist at all, and why would anyone care about a man who’s lost everything, and yet is somehow still here, unafraid to live on when the man that he loves more than anything else is dead?” 

I could hear Brendon calling out from beyond the grave, “Why not?” 

A small smile appeared on my face as I thought of him. He was nothing more than a ghost now, a figment of my imagination, but he was still there, and for once, I thought that Brendon’s answer might be right. He was wiser than I ever realized. 

At dinner, I told Mom everything. She had already heard about Brendon’s death from his parents, but there were plenty of other things that she hadn’t heard about, and she had plenty of news to tell me. We spent the evening laughing, crying, and sharing memories, and I wouldn’t have had my first night back from Kale University any other way. 

After dinner, she drove me back to our apartment, and for the first time since winter break, I had the chance to sleep in my own bed again. Certainly, things had changed for me, but that was okay. I had experienced the greatest elation and the deepest sorrow, and I was a better person for it. Images flashed through my mind as I reflected on my freshman year one last time before I drifted off to sleep. 

Two words echoed in my head: _Why not?_


End file.
